


The Koffee Kingdom

by not_supergirl



Category: Adventure Time
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-20 06:57:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4777829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_supergirl/pseuds/not_supergirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A slow burn College! AU with eventual smut in which Bonnibel works at a coffee house that Marceline's band plays at and Marceline doesn't like Bonnie's douchebag boyfriend Ricardio one bit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When Bonnibel first applies for the job, it is to stay busy; her father--ever the police officer--had always said that idle hands are the devil’s playground (later, when she’s juggling formal Chemistry labs and Physics projects with grueling work hours, she’ll wonder why she thought she would need help staying busy during her sophomore year of college). When she first accepted the job, she didn’t realize that she was signing on to be an always on-call, poorly paid, treated-rudely-by-customers- _all-the-time,_ coffee barista, and for the first few weeks, Bonnie is infuriated by her job. However, about three months in, she decides that minimum wage, jerkface college kids aside, and all things considered, the job actually isn’t that bad after all (she decides this when she’s pulling an all-nighter cramming session for a Biology exam that comes with unlimited free caffeine provided via her work). 

The coffee house is located off campus, but only just barely, and is, at most, a ten minute walk from Bonnibel’s dorm room. It’s quaint and a little run-down, decrepit enough to make it look ‘hipster’ and ‘vintage’, but not enough to make it look like a dump. Old, wooden tables litter the spacious, sunken-in main floor. Off to the right side and up half a step are booths adorned in fraying, red leather and more black paint in need of another coat. The left side houses more booths, but only half as much as the right side, as the counter is also located to the left, and facing the main floor in the back is a stage. Not a huge one, but big enough that the Koffee Kingdom, as the coffee house is fondly named (although it’s done purposefully, the spelling error drives Bonnie _absolutely crazy_ everytime she sees it) is able to hold live entertainment. Usually bands made up of college students who will never pursue a career in music but like to use making it as a way to pass the time and form some kind of companionship.  
Okay, if Bonnie’s being completely honest, there’s really only one band that plays the Koffee Kingdom nowadays because people come in more so to listen to the raven haired beauty that sings lead in this aforementioned band than to actually buy coffee; which Bonnibel is fine with, as it makes her job all the easier, and although being a barista isn’t extraordinarily difficult--not really a cake walk though either, don’t forget about those rude customers--when you’re as clumsy as Bonnie is, anything can be a challenge. Including maintaining a stable relationship with a sculpted, brown-eyed boyfriend, who, in Bonnie’s case, goes by the name of Ricardio. And of course whatever tangent she tried to go off on had led her back to him. Bonnibel had been trying for hours to get the stupid jerk off her mind and heaves an exasperated sigh as the chiseled boy pops into her head again. She can’t think of Ricardio. If she thinks of Ricardio she just knows that she’ll cry and she can’t cry, she’s at work, and she’s been informed by her roommate and best friend Shoko Yurei that ordering coffee from a crying barista is “insanely awkward”.

  
She swipes at her eyes furiously as she tries to process that fact that Ricardio has cheated on her. Ricardio, her intelligent, charming, wonderful and amazing boyfriend, had cheated on her. Again. In the four years that they’d been together (they’d been high school sweethearts) Ricardio had only cheated on her once--well, twice now (at least that she was aware of). Bonnie wants to be mad and tries to wipe down the coffee counter as angrily as she can, wishing she could simultaneously wipe Ricardio from her thoughts. She just knows Ricardio will show up tonight and try to talk to her, try to apologize, and Bonnibel also knows she’ll cave and forgive him because Ricardio loves her (she knows he does) and she loves him (at least she thinks she does) even though he messes up sometimes; but right now, Bonnie wants to pretend like she’s enraged and that if Ricardio even dares show his face she will vehemently refuse to see him and demand he leave before he embarrasses himself. These thoughts make Bonnibel feel bad (she could never be that cruel), but she continues to pretend like she won’t forgive Ricardio the moment she sees him. She tries to remember that she is an empowered feminist who would never take back a cheater. She puffs her chest out proudly. Moments later Bonnie gives up on pretending to be angry and slouches, going to back to dejectedly wiping an already spotless counter (she takes pride in the cleanliness of her work station). She looks distractedly over her shoulder at the clock hanging on the wall behind her and notes that The Band That Always Plays Here But She Can’t Remember The Name Of will be starting their set soon and that people are going to begin flooding into the coffee house.

  
Up on stage, a dark haired girl is playing with the height of a microphone stand. She has what Bonnie thinks is a bass (Bonnibel was never very good with musical instruments) strung across her torso resting against her back. It’s bright red and polished rigorously to the point where it shines. The body of the instrument resembles the shape of an ax so closely that Bonnibel is a little concerned for the musician’s safety. She is adjourned in black ripped skinny jeans tucked into black combat boots and a long-sleeved v-neck striped red and grey with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows, revealing two leather bracelets (one on each wrist), an assortment of rings, black nail polish, and the pale skin of her arms. Bonnie gulps. Like always, she is caught off guard by how gorgeous this girl is when she sees her. Bonnibel’s eyes trace the way the muscles of her forearms tighten and tense as she plays with the microphone stand. The dark haired girl’s gaze flits up absentmindedly and Bonnie immediately snaps her eyes away. Being caught staring is definitely not something Bonnibel wants to have to explain herself for, so she moves her gaze to the next band member. Behind the singer, setting up a worse-for-wear looking set of drums is a frat boy named Ringo Bonham (known to everyone around campus, even the teachers, as ‘Bongo’) who is in Bonnie’s German class. He is wearing white board shorts and a baby blue bro-tank even though it could not be more than forty degrees out. His beat up high-tops are the same color as his shirt and he is grinning from ear to ear. It is obvious that he loves playing here. Bonnibel tutored him for a semester last year and quickly discovered that he is essentially the equivalent of a huge puppy dog that loves to party and just be around people (traits he and Bonnie do not share). Bongo spots Bonnibel stacking cups behind the counter and smiles broadly at her, a gesture she returns with a tentative wave.

  
To the left of Bongo, playing with the tuning on her guitar, is a girl named Keila. Keila had gone to high school with Bonnie and Ricardio, and Bonnibel is almost positive that she’s attening UofO (a lot of the students liked to abbreviate is as UOO and pronounce it in one syllable that sounded something like “ooh”) for free, though she never looked like the kind of girl who’s majorly smart. Her big, black hair is wild and unkempt, and her light brown skin is without blemish, flawless even. The short, long-sleeved, emerald dress she’s donned tonight makes her look even better, and the white knee-highs striped green at the top paired with ballet shoes the same color as her dress finishes off the look nicely. Bonnie is almost surprised to find that her guitar is blue and not, well, green.

Sulking in the right-hand corner of the stage is another frat boy fiddling with some of the knobs on a keyboard. He’s smaller than Bongo by far, but still doesn’t look like someone you’d want to mess with. His stormy eyes, messily spiked hair, and five o’clock shadow, make him rather intimidating and aloof, although Bonnie’s sure it’s something that draws girls to him all the time. The boy’s ropy muscles show through his tight, dark gray t-shirt that he’s accompanied with black jeans and grey vans. Bonnie doesn’t know the boy, but she tries her best not to judge him despite all the weird, broody vibes he gives her.

  
The Koffee Kingdom starts to fill up and Bonnibel drags her attention away from the band setting up on stage whose name she still doesn’t remember and directs it back to the crazy-haired Korean woman who’s just approached the counter.

  
“Hi, miss!” Bonnie says, smiling brightly, “What can I get for you today?”

  
“Well,” the woman begins, her voice faintly accented and her fingers drumming lightly on the counter, “I’d like one blueberry muffin, and my boyfriend over there,” she indicates somewhere over her left shoulder, “would like a black, venti coffee.”

  
“Sure, of course. That’ll be four dollars and seventy six cents.”

  
The lady pays in exact change, brushes some of her rainbow hair behind her ear, and proceeds to wait by the counter.

  
“Hey do I know you?” Bonnie asks, pulling on a disposable plastic glove and reaching for one of the blueberry muffins in the display case.

  
The other girl looks at the name tag pinned to Bonnie’s shirt that reads “HI! MY NAME IS: Bonnibel (:”, then back to Bonnie’s face and seems like she’s trying hard to place her, “Of course! Bonnibel! Bonnibel Butler! I’m your floor don, Yeoja Bigagsu, but everyone just calls me Lady.”

  
Bonnibel’s cheeks redden, she’s so embarrassed. How could she forget who her own floor don was? (to Bonnie’s credit, her floor don forgot who she was too) She brews the coffee, willing the blush on her face to fade, “Right. Lady. Um, how’d you get that nickname?”

  
“Well, I’m Korean, in case you couldn’t tell, and ‘Yeoja’ is kind of a mouthful and a pain in to spell. ‘Yeoja’ itself means ‘lady’ in Korean, so it just kind of fit.”

  
Bonnie nods along to the small narrative, but doesn’t comment as she writes ‘Lady’ in her big, girly, looping script on the coffee cup. She places the coffee on the counter next to the wrapped muffin and slides them both towards Lady.  
“Have a great night.” Bonnie tells her cheerfully and with a bright smile.

  
“Thanks, you too.” Lady returns, and heads over to a table, sitting across from a blond-haired boy wearing a white bear hat teeming with freshman excitement and plopping down next to a hulking, massive brunet who drapes his arm over her shoulder.  
Bonnie sighs again, the boy’s mess of brown hair reminding her of Ricardio and dragging her thoughts back to him. She tries her best to paste on a smile and brighten as another customer approaches. The line lengthens within seconds, as a bunch of people start pouring in, trying to get their caffeine before the show starts. Bonnibel tries to help them all as quickly as she can, and before she knows it, the line has depleted and the lights in the coffee house have dimmed. The band is about to begin. Everyone is on the edge of their seat.

  
All is dark on stage as a bit of scratchy guitar comes through the speakers and all the band members harmonize together, the guitar playing what sounds a little bit like a scale underneath them. Keila plays a chord on her guitar and let’s it ring, and then the stage lights are on and the raven haired girl has grabbed the mic along with everyone’s attention and begun singing.

  
**_“I want you.”_**

  
The guitar follows her voice, playing underneath her, complimenting her, and then stops abruptly and Bongo hits his drum set three times, hard. Then her voice is back, the guitar following it.

  
**_“I want you so bad, babe.”_ **

  
More loud drumming and her sultry voice returns.

  
_**“I want you. I want you so bad, it’s drivin’ me mad. It’s drivin’ me mad.”** _

  
Her voice builds and so does the music surrounding her. She begins singing again, this time higher, at least half an octave so, but she still maintains her raspy quality that has Bonnie absolutely _transfixed._ The girl repeats the lyrics of the first verse and then the music is hard and heavy, but it briefly fades out to let her bass crawl out of the speakers in two short solos. It’s so raw and different that Bonnie almost doesn’t realize that they’re covering a Beatle’s song. If her father wasn’t so in love with the old band, then she might not have recognized it at all, but now the girl on stage is singing again--even higher than before--and whatever Bonnibel may or may not have been thinking about is gone as she watches the music coming off of the stage like it’s magic.  
Keila takes over playing the melody on her guitar and, Bonnie realizes, not for the first time, how incredibly talented the group is. Bonnibel is watching the dark haired girl on stage lose herself in the music and it is so enchanting that she almost doesn’t see the customer approaching. She rushes to help them, wanting to focus all of her attention on the lead singer as quickly as she can, and for the rest of her shift, she does just that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning: non-con

Shivering slightly, Bonnie exhales a puff of warmth onto her chilled fingers in a vain attempt to bring the feeling back into them. Shoko texted her a little earlier, offering to give her a ride home and save her the walk in the cold. Had Bonnibel known she’d have to sit out in the frigid night air for ten minutes (she literally could have already been at her dorm) waiting for Shoko to arrive, she would’ve just walked.

 

She leans against the brick wall of a side alley adjacent to the coffee house, thinking about the Biology homework she’ll have to complete when she arrives back at her dorm. 

 

“Bonnie?” a deep voice questions, almost tripping over the word. Her head immediately snaps up and she meets the eyes of Ricardio who is just now staggering into the alleyway, seeking Bonnie out to apologize no doubt, just as she knew he would. He knows her work schedule. 

 

“You’re drunk.” She says, because it’s true. He’s swaying slightly as he makes his way over to her and his usually sharp and calculating eyes look hazy and unfocused. 

 

“Naw, jus’ had a little to take the edge off, s’all.” He stumbles closer and traps Bonnibel against the wall with his right hand. He rests it above her shoulder on the cold brick, and she wonders if it’s because he can’t remain upright without the support.

 

Bonnibel doesn’t like drunk people. They’re unpredictable, and they make her uncomfortable. Alcohol is one of the reasons she generally avoids parties, be they with or without Ricardio, who turns into a whole different person when he’s had something to drink. Bonnie knows she should see this as a major red flag, but for some reason she doesn’t; that in no way means she likes drunk Ricardio. He gets very handsy and possessive, and it scares her. So does the position he’s got her in right now.

 

“I’m sho shorry, Bubblegum.” He slurs, trying to look her in the eyes and hoping the old nickname will spur Bonnie into letting him off easy. Instead, it brings a familiar taste of poison into her mouth. 

 

“You’ve had too much to drink, Ricardio. You should go home.” Bonnie tries to tell herself that her voice sounds strong and firm, but to her own ears it sounds like voice of a quivering child. 

 

“But I am!” He reiterates, trying his best to seem genuine, “I’ll prove it!” He leans down to kiss Bonnie and she visibly shrinks, shying away from the reek of alcohol on his breath; but he keeps coming and eventually, finds her mouth in a sloppy kiss, wrapping the arm not caging her against the wall around her waist.

 

“Ricardio, stop. I don’t like you when you’re like this.” 

 

“I love you, Bonnie.” He mumbles from her collar, where he’s taken to leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses that are in no way pleasant on her neck. 

 

“Ricardio, seriously. Go home. Sober up.” Bonnie thinks that he has to hear the small quaver of fear that has entered her voice, that he has to feel the way her hands are shaking too hard for it to be a result of the weather. If he does, he ignores it.

 

“Ricardio.” She whimpers, trying to push him away from her by his big broad shoulders. Ricardio’s mouth has moved from her neck to her collarbone and his inebriated fingers are trying to undo the buttons of her pink, collared work shirt. Bonnibel feels something like white hot panic seer behind her eyes and burn her throat, a coil winding tighter and tighter around her chest until it is physically difficult to breathe. Alarms are going off loudly in her head and the sound of them makes her feel faint. She tries desperately to wriggle out from where he’s pinned her against the wall. She hears what sounds like a door slamming. She thinks it must be the sound of her heart hitting her ribcage.

 

“Ricardio, _stop_.” Salty tears spill out of Bonnie’s eyes and down her cheeks, and she is shaking, shaking, shaking, and Ricardio isn’t stopping. 

 

“ _ **Please**_.” It comes out as a broken whisper, her voice cracking over the hushed, unheard plea, and then the handcuff weight of Ricardio’s mouth is gone and she is sucking in oxygen for what feels like the first time, deep lungful of air after another, her eyes closed, her body still pressed against the wall, wishing she could melt into it.

 

When she opens her eyes, she sees Ricardio cradling his nose, blood dripping through his long, tanned fingers, and a girl, wiping her knuckles, which are already tinged a light purple, on her black leather jacket. The girl is fuming, and Ricardio is livid. 

 

“Just who the hell do you think you--” 

 

“If I ever see you touch her without her permission again I will _fucking kill you._ " the girl growls, venom dripping from her every word, “So you’d better get the _hell_ out of here before I change my mind.”

 

Ricardio tries to hold his ground, straightening his spine and puffing his chest out in what Bonnie thinks is an effort to look more muscular and intimidating, but fear is flashing in his brown irises and he unconsciously shuffles a half step away from the seething girl who in no way looks fazed by his pathetic attempt at machoism. He looks over the attacker’s (savior’s) shoulder at Bonnie, his eyes begging her desperately for some back up. The look makes her want to throw up. Bonnie stays silent and the other girl takes a step backward, closer to her, holding her arm out in a protective barrier, as if she’s looking to clothesline Ricardio should he decide to rush Bonnibel. 

 

“Don’t you even fucking look at her.” He glances at Bonnie helplessly, who still has tears streaming down her face, before it finally occurs to him that he’s lost this battle. 

 

“Bitch.” he mutters weakly, stalking out of the alleyway quickly and almost falling over twice without so much as a backwards glance to Bonnie. The fuming girl takes a deep breath, probably trying to calm herself down, before she turns to face Bonnibel, her dark eyes conveying the softest look that Bonnie has ever seen. 

 

“Hey, are you --” she is cut off by Bonnie launching herself into the stranger’s arms. 

 

“Uh, hi.” Her savior says, obviously very surprised by the pink haired girl's actions. 

 

“You swear a lot.” Bonnie says weakly, the quiet sound of her meek voice muffled by the girl’s shoulder.

 

Marceline, Bonnie’s savior, laughs lightly after hearing the pink haired girl’s comment but stops immediately as she hears the small sniffles coming from the girl in her arms. Having never been in a position such as this before, she is unsure of what to do and awkwardly wraps one arm around Bonnie in a very tense attempt at comforting her. 

 

For some reason, Marceline’s insanely awkward response only makes Bonnie cry harder, burying her face in the other girl’s neck and no doubt leaving tear stains on Marceline’s striped shirt that is peeking out from under the collar of her leather jacket.

 

“Hey, it’s okay.” She says, throwing caution to the wind and completely enveloping Bonnibel in her embrace, rubbing circles on her back and murmuring soothing things in her ear, “I’ve got you, princess.”

 

“Sorry,” Bonnie sniffles, beginning to pull away “I just--.”’ 

 

“You don’t need to explain yourself. I get it.” Marceline says, pulling the smaller girl back into her arms. 

 

Bonnibel nods weakly at this, somehow managing to burrow even further into the girl’s shoulder, taking in a deep breath through her nose in an effort to try to keep more tears from spilling forth. She smiles a little at the other girl’s scent, red velvet cupcakes. When she finally calms down and pulls back to look at the stranger, she is shocked to say the least. 

 

“You’re the girl from that band!” She exclaims, wiping her eyes with her sleeve and shuffling half a step away, to give Marceline some space.  She brushes some of her dark hair absentmindedly out of her face.

 

_“Uh Huh Her_.” she says, almost dejectedly and Bonnie immediately backpedals, accidentally beginning to ramble. 

 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you. I didn’t know that you don’t like to have that as your identity, and, I mean, I’m not saying it is your identity. I just--” She is cut off by the sultry laugh of the girl next to her. 

 

“Slow down, cutie. _Uh Huh Her_ , is the name of my band. I said it all moody like that because we used to have a much cooler name, but the manager of the coffee house we play at told us that we had to change it if we wanted to play there.”

 

“Pepper told you you had to change it? He’s so laidback though!” 

 

“Pepper, huh? First name basis, he your boyfriend?”

 

“No!” Bonnie exclaims, giggling at the very idea of a relationship with the flamboyant man, and Marceline is ecstatic that she’s managed to make the small, sad girl smile, though she doesn’t show it, “he’s my manager.”

 

“You work here, and you didn’t know the name of my band? I’m insulted.” Marceline puts her hand on her chest mockingly, as if it physically wounds her, and Bonnie’s cheeks tinge pink at the teasing tone in her raspy voice.

 

“So no boyfriend then, huh?” the dark haired girl says, elbowing Bonnie’s side and wiggling her eyebrows suggestively, and suddenly Bonnie is choking on tears again, the weight of Ricardio’s actions slamming back down on her like a guillotine. It feels like drowning.

 

“My boyfriend is the guy you just saved me from." Bonnibel says quietly, unable to meet the other girl’s eyes, wishing she could collapse into herself as she watches Marceline’s face crumple and her smile drop off, a hard set of anger replacing it. 

 

“Oh.” 

 

Both girls jolt at the sound of a car horn honking and Shoko, Bonnie’s roommate, leans out the driver’s window of the black jeep that she's just pulled up in front of the alley, her teal scarf moving lazily in the slight breeze.

 

“Yo, Bonnibel! Get in here! It’s freezing!” Shoko calls out to Bonnie.

 

“One second, Shoko.” Bonnibel holds up a finger to her roommate, indicating that she needs a moment, before turning back to the dark haired girl who saved her. 

 

“Thank for saving me.” She says sincerely, searching the eyes of Marceline whose irises appear black in the dim lighting. The dark haired beauty merely nods, lightly humming a tune, one Bonnie can’t quite place even though it sounds vaguely familiar.

 

In a surge of courage, Bonnibel lunges forward and wraps her arms around the other girl’s neck, squeezing her softly. Her savior tenses momentarily, before relaxing and giving Bonnie a gentle squeeze back, Marceline telling herself to ignore her heart beat thudding heavily in her chest the whole time. _**She has a boyfriend, Marcy. Don’t do this to yourself**_. 

 

As Bonnibel pulls away, a light smile accompanied by a blush on her cheeks, she tries to tell herself that the black haired girl’s arms don’t feel much better than Ricardio's and turns to get into the passenger seat of Shoko’s car, the heavy scent of red velvet still in her nose.

 

Shoko reverses slowly, pulling out onto the road before looking over at Bonnie in the dark car, “Was that Marceline Abadeer you were talking to?” 

 

“I don’t know.” Bonnibel replies honestly, only now realizing that neither girls had introduced themselves as she plays nervously with the hem of her pink button-down, “I only just met her tonight. I didn’t get her name.” 

 

“Well it’s Marceline. And you should steer clear of her. She’s bad news. I mean it, Bon." _**Marceline**_ , Bonnie thinks, tasting the word on her tongue, _**that’s a gorgeous name**_. Bonnie turns to look at Shoko as her words are finally digested, and she thinks she must be joking, so she is astounded to see the girl is deadly serious.

 

“Coming from you, that seems a little hypocritical.” the pink haired girl notes in an almost defensive manner. Shoko has a history of criminal activity, one that she was not proud of but had no problem owning up to, and although the girl’s moral compass may be a little askew at times, Bonnibel had never seen her be anything but kind to everyone she met.

 

“Coming from me, that should seem all the more a serious warning.” 

 

Meanwhile, Marceline is still leaning against the harsh brick of the alleyway, trying to process everything that had just happened, her eyes lingering on the place she last saw the beautiful girl with pink hair. She can still feel the other girl’s arms around her neck, hugging her in a way that nobody had dared to for a long time. _**Bonnibel**_ , she finally muses, liking the way her name sounds, _**what have you done to me**_? Marceline mulls over the name for a little while longer. Eventually she decides that Bonnie has one of those names that you can chew on for forever before blowing it into one, perfect, pink bubble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uGh so the decent human being in me wants to kill Ricardio now but the writer in me is like hold on friend just think of the plot but anyway


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the one where Bonnie tries to befriend Marceline

Bonnibel sighs again for what she estimates could be the millionth time today. All day she’s been trying to focus on the write up for a Chemistry titration lab she had recently finished and all day her thoughts have been floating back to the dark haired angel that had saved her two nights before. **_Marceline,_** she reminds herself, still enchanted by just the sound of her name alone. She absentmindedly scrawls it out in big, curly cursive in the margin of her lab notebook. Her thoughts linger on the way it felt to be in the girl’s arms as she draws girly flowers around the name, and she tries to comprehend how Shoko could ever tell her to stay away from someone as sweet as the dark haired girl. The dark haired girl who had held her while she cried, who had made stupid jokes in an effort to cheer her up. The dark haired girl who had let swear words tumble out of her mouth in almost every sentence. The dark haired girl who had saved her from Ricardio. She shudders at the thought of him.

 

Her phone rings and the caller ID shows that it’s Ricardio, as if he could sense himself on Bonnie's mind. It is the twenty third time he has called Bonnibel in two days, and this is the twenty third time she has hit decline in two days. He leaves a voicemail, which brings that number up to seventeen. Text messages are on sixty eight and counting. Bonnie feels like she should let Ricardio explain and apologize for himself, but she is afraid that she will forgive him. She's afraid of what would happen should she forgive him.

 

She sighs, again, all thoughts of titration cast aside. She slumps forward, her head hitting her desk with a dull thud, and she puts her arms on top of her pink hair in an effort to block out all the light. She groans. **_Think of Marceline,_** she tells herself, trying to get out of the bad mood she's thought herself into. She smiles a little, as she recalls the girl's red velvet scent. She ponders Shoko's caution a little more but eventually decides to disregard it. She comes to the conclusion that she will befriend the dark haired girl, warning’s be damned.

 

On Wednesday British Literature, a class Bonnibel has been anticipating all week as she shares it with Marceline, finally rolls around and Bonnie finds herself smiling wider than usual as she enters the room, surveying it. She quickly finds what she’s looking for in the back right corner, slouching just as always into her seat with earbuds in and black, chunky Dr. Martens thrown up on the table haphazardly, is Marceline, the seat on the left side of her table, as per usual, unoccupied. As Bonnie approaches the broody looking girl her smile somehow manages to stretch wider, and she sets her pink backpack down next to the empty chair at Marceline’s table, before settling in and receiving an incredulous look not only from Marceline, but from most of the other students surrounding her too (although in Bonnie’s opinion Marceline’s is the best, what with her wide eyes and surprised little open mouth; Bonnibel has to stop herself from giggling).

 

“Um, princess, just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Marceline asks, removing one ear bud, cocking her head to the side and staring at Bonnie like she’s just grown a second head. Bonnibel almost giggles again as she thinks about how adorable the inquisitive look is on Marceline's otherwise usually hard features.

 

“Hi. Your name’s Marceline, but you already know that. I’m Bonnie, and I’d like to be friends with you.” the pink haired girl replies easily just like she’d practiced, extending a hand for Marceline to shake and giving her her friendliest smile. This seems to be even more of a shock and Marceline stares at Bonnibel's outstretched hand for a few moments before replying.

 

“No.” Marceline says after a beat and places the earbud she had previously removed back in, trying her very best to act like the conversation is over and that she is not even a little bit enticed by the offer, ignoring the priceless look on Bonnibel's features. It’s hilarious and Marceline wishes she could take a picture (Marceline also wishes she could be Bonnie’s friend. She wishes she could give her an easy grin and say, “I thought we were friends, cutie?” and then laugh lightheartedly while Bonnie reels and tries to recover. She wishes for a lot of things, but wishing is dangerous, so she shuts the thoughts down before they can consume her and start to affect her judgement. She reminds herself that she will only end up alone and hurting should she accept Bonnie’s offer).

 

“What do you mean 'no'?" Bonnie splutters, looking like a floundering fish out of water. Marceline sighs before pulling an ear bud out again. Stay strong, Marcy.

 

“I mean no. Look, cupcake, it’s nothing personal. I just don’t do friends.” Marceline flashes her an empathetic smile that looks forced (something Bonnibel picks up on) and almost caves as she sees an adorable pout overtake Bonnibel’s already overwhelmingly cute features, and she has to remind herself that she’s too punk rock to be thinking things like how cuddly the pink haired girl looks right now.

 

"Hey, Marceline, be my friend too." Some guy sitting behind them says and it is obvious that he is mocking Bonnie's invitation and Marceline for acting so very unusually not cruel to anybody who had dared sit next to her, let alone start a conversation. Clearly Marceline needs to remind the poor boy who he’s talking to. She whirls on him, her features hardening and her dark eyes turning somehow darker, now blazing. Bonnie is astounded by how much emotion Marceline can emit using her eyes alone.

 

"Speak to me again and I'll rip your heart out and use it as a fucking Christmas ornament." She grinds out through clenched teeth, her molten eyes burning into him. He gulps, watching Marceline warily, as if she would lunge over the table right this very moment and make good on the threat, but she merely turns to face Bonnibel again, giving the boy one more fiery glare before her features relax into their normal, bored expression.

 

“But, I mean, why won’t you be my friend? I’m a great friend, I promise!” Bonnibel says picking up the conversation where it left off and Marceline is surprised to find no judgement in the other girl’s eyes for her hostile reaction to the boy sitting behind them’s comment. She is even more surprised that Bonnibel is still interested in being friends with her, having seen that she is not necessarily the nicest person, but Bonnie is still just looking at her with that gorgeous, light smile and a hopeful glint in her eyes, and for a second Marceline wants to give in. Marceline wants to give in _so badly_. She doesn’t know how long it’s been since someone has looked at her with anything other than fear or disgust, or just something _positive_ in general. She tries to imagine burying these feelings, tries to steel her resolve. Remind herself that letting people in only means they can hurt you.  ** _Why am I being like this? I only just met the girl last week for fuck's sake._**

 

“I just don’t. It’s never really worked out well for me.” she eventually says, looking somber and off in a far away place. Bonnie wants to ask more, wants to ask who it was that betrayed her trust and hurt her. She wants Marceline to let her show her that she would never do something that. That there are still good people in the world, but she knows that, as of right now, it's not her place.

 

“But what about Keila and those other people in your band! They're your friends aren't they?" Bonnie points out hopefully, not entirely sure why she’s so adamant on forming a friendship with this girl, just that she is.

 

“That’s different.” Marceline says indifferently, coming back to Earth and saying that as if it actually explains anything.

 

“How?” Bonnie wants more. Bonnie wants Marceline to either be her friend or give her a real reason that she won't be. She tries not to think that maybe it's because Marceline just doesn't like her (if she doesn't, she should just say so).

 

“It just is.” Marceline watches Bonnie’s face fall even further and decides she owes her at least some kind of logical reasoning, something to deter the girl on this ludicrous quest she’s decided to embark upon.

 

“Look, princess, I know that you probably got this whole “being friends with me” idea because of what happened on Friday, and you want to thank me or something, but I would have done that sh*t for anyone. So you don’t have to worry about repaying me, or whatever.”

 

“That’s not why I want to be your friend!” The words tumble out of Bonnie’s mouth before she has a chance to think about how they will be interpreted.

 

“Oh yeah? Then why do you?” The dark haired girl quirks an eyebrow and a blush furiously overtakes Bonnibel’s face.

 

“I just, I mean, you,” she stutters as the blush on her cheeks blazes and Marceline laughs. Bonnie gives her a glare that Marceline thinks is more cute than angry, before schooling her features and trying to rid her cheeks of their pink tinge.

 

“I’m not going to give up, you know. I’ll just keep bugging you until you’re forced to be friends with me.”

 

“How enticing.” Marceline responds, shaking her head with a small amused smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, plugging her earbud back in and turning to face the front. Bonnie opens her mouth to say something else, but is cut off by the ringing of the bell and Mr. Petrikov’s flurried arrival, as he slams his briefcase down to silence the students and begin class.

 

For the rest of the week, and the whole of the next week (and Marceline is willing to bet the week after that, and the week after that, and the week after that) Bonnibel sits next to her at every available chance, talking to her animatedly and even walking with her to some of her classes. She really pulled out the big guns after the show Marceline played last week at the Koffee Kingdom, approaching her with her favorite kind of coffee (she had asked Bongo before they began playing) and showering her in millions of compliments, praising her for what a good job she had apparently done. When the pink haired girl said she wouldn’t leave Marceline alone until she accepted the friendship she wasn’t kidding, and Marceline is worried that the only way she can get the endearingly persistent girl to leave her be, is by being blatantly rude and malicious, which is definitely not something she thinks she’ll be able to stomach doing. That is, of course, until her dad drops in to visit the next day.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND SO IT BEGINS yooo srry about the hella short chapter but i’ll make it up to you guys


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this chapter is crap but here ya go anyway

Marceline stomps angrily out of the empty classroom and away from her father, slamming the cheap wooden door so hard its metal frame is quaking. Both hands rake through her hair, gripping it desperately at the roots and pulling, hard. Tears are escaping out of her eyes no matter how fiercely she is fighting them, willing them away and trying to choke them down into an uncomfortable knot in her stomach. She knows she’s lost when she feels one slip out of her eye followed by another and swipes disgustedly at her cheeks, wiping away whatever pathetic salty tears she finds there. _Keep it together, you fuckface, there are people around._ She sniffles one more time, counts to three, blinks, and then Bonnibel is suddenly at her side, talking aimlessly just like she always does with that same chipper tone and that same perfect, easy smile, and Marceline is finding herself very, very angry. Marceline is finding a searing rage in her blood and a coil constricting tightly around her burning throat. She knows that her eyes are black but if she didn't know that, she would swear they are red. They feel red. Marceline doesn't know why she's angry or what she's angry at (her father), or even who she's angry at (herself); all she knows is that the anger is there, and there’s plenty of it to go around.

 

"So I was looking over that English homework and I’m like--"

 

"God, princess, can't you take a fucking _hint?_ " the voice that says this is harsh and at first both girls don't recognize it as Marceline's. The voice is acidic and rough and a voice Bonnibel thought Marceline would never use with her. She is taken aback and hurt, but then she notices the red in the whites of Marceline's eyes, a clear indicator that the girl has been crying, and now Bonnibel is just sad.

 

"Is everything okay?" Bonnie asks her, taking a step closer to the dark haired girl so she can lightly touch her shoulder.

 

"It'd be much better if you could just leave me _the fuck_ alone." Marceline spits, jerking back violently from Bonnie's hand and resisting the urge to lean into it. She is angry that she even wants to lean into it; it makes her weak and the vulnerability just makes her angrier.

 

"I-" Bonnibel starts and then abruptly breaks off, and Marceline has no idea what the girl was going to say. Bonnibel even has no idea what she was going to say. She is choking on the sentence, whatever it was, as her eyes well up with tears that threaten to spill over, and suddenly Marceline feels _**horrible**_ , watching as one fat drop strolls down Bonnibel's perfect cheek that should be tugging into a smile and should never look this sad.

 

 _I caused this._ The thought is like a punch to the gut.

 

"If that's what you want." Bonnie finally rushes out in a single breath of air, turning on her heel and running, running _away_ , down the hallway. The sight makes Marceline want to throw up.

 

"Bonnie, wait, I--" Marceline calls after her, taking a step and reaching forward; but she knows it is too late. The pink haired girl is already gone and Marceline is feeling a lot worse than she has in a long time.

 

Bonnie's eyes are so full of tears that she can't see where she's going, and even if she could see, she still has no idea where exactly it is that she’s running to; where exactly it is that she could run to. She just hopes that it’s away.

 

She moves blindly, head down, vaguely aware of her classmates staring at her retreating back, before connecting face first with a wall. She stumbles backward, barely staying on her feet, and upon closer inspection realizes that it is actually a person she has met head-on. Her folders, pencils, and books are skittering around her feet and across the dirty linoleum floor. Looking up from the scattered school supplies, she meets the sympathetic brown eyes that have been haunting the darkest corners of her dorm room (and dreams). They belong to Ricardio, who she hasn't spoken to in almost two weeks.

 

"I, uh, sor-sorry. I-" she is cut off by Ricardio wrapping his arms around her and she stiffens. Memories of _why_ she hasn't spoken to him in weeks flood her senses and all the air is sucked out of her lungs. She is drowning, panic rising like vomit in her throat. She takes in a deep breath through her nose, forces down the shakiness in her neck to where it can continue to sit uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach. She wants to pull away. It is claustrophobic and scary and _suffocating_ in Ricardio’s arms, and she wants to pull away. But she doesn’t. She fights the urge, and tries to remind herself that this is the sweet, caring, sober Ricardio that she is used to, that she had spent the last four years with, and after a beat (an awkward, too-long beat, a beat that she's sure he must have noticed) she curls tighter into his torso, sobbing messily into his shirt. He doesn't ask why she's crying (something she's grateful for), merely shields her with an arm wrapped tightly _(too tight too tight_ ) around her shoulder, steering her out of the English building and into his dorm that is housed in the adjacent building.

 

There they sit on his bed, where Bonnie continues to fall apart in his arms. As he holds her, patiently waiting for her to cry herself out, she thinks briefly (in between thoughts of pulling away from Ricardio) that crying into Marceline felt safer, but the mere thought of Marceline brings on a fresh wave of salty tears, so she tried to shove those thoughts, and all thoughts, out of her head.

 

Later, after she's calmed down and able to speak without tears springing to her eyes, she calls Shoko, tells her that she won’t be in class for the rest of the day and why, at which point Ricardio takes the opportunity to explain himself and apologize for the... _thing_...that had happened two weeks prior. He humbles himself and looks Bonnie straight in the eye, promising to never pressure her into something like that ever again and to always respect her boundaries. Some part of her, she's not sure if it's her heart or her head (or the panic the creeps into her and squeezes her throat every time he touches her) or maybe both, doesn't want to forgive him, but he sounds so sincere that she can't help herself. The joy on his face when she tells him it’s alright almost makes up for the terror she feels claw its way up her esophagus when he sweeps her into his arms and peppers her face with kisses. She wonders (before her head banishes the thought, on account of it makes her sad and it's really, sort of weird) if Marceline will ever hold her like this. She wonders if Marceline is okay.

 

Shoko sighs, running her hand through her inky hair again. She's been looking for Marceline for what feels like eons (but in reality was really only about ten minutes) and she's close to giving up. In a last ditch effort she goes around to the back of the campus where she finally spots the dark-haired girl sitting outside the English building with her back resting against its cool bricks, earbuds in, sulking more broodily than usual. Shoko strides up to her, anger rising where complacency once was and stops in front of her, hand on her cocked hip, foot tapping impatiently. Marceline, noticing her presence, pulls one earbud out with an angry growl of, "What the hell do you want?"

 

It doesn't carry as much bite as usual; they both know it, and they both know why.

 

"You should apologize to Bonnie." Shoko suggests, her voice like stone. It doesn't sound much like a suggestion and Marceline knows that's because it isn't.

 

She looks down, guilt shining heavily in her dark eyes. She doesn’t look at Shoko and she doesn't know what to say.

 

"She deserves better than this." Shoko tells her, reinforcing what she already knows.

 

"She deserves better than me." It is mumbled bitterly and Marceline is not aware that she feels this way until the words are out of her mouth, but she knows they’re true, and she does not regret saying them. The pink haired girl does deserve better than a lousy excuse for a friend who can't even admit to being her friend.

 

Shoko laughs. She honest-to-god laughs, actually throws her head back and laughs, deep and throaty, Marceline’s eyes snapping angrily up at her, glaring. Shoko stifles her laughter, not after wiping a non-existent tear from her eye, and says, "Jesus Christ, aren’t you melodramatic? You’ve known the girl for two weeks; this isn’t some tragic love story, and even if it were you aren’t a gallant, heroic martyr. Let Bonnibel decide who she does and doesn’t want in her life."

 

Then she turns and walks away, leaving Marceline in a contemplative silence, Shoko’s words ringing through her skull even long after she’s left.

 

Bonnibel finds herself back in her dorm room late that night, still awake and working on the homework she hadn't started earlier as she was too busy crying her eyes out in her boyfriend's embrace over a girl she’s known for two weeks who isn't even her friend. She takes another sip from the lukewarm coffee mug on her desk, and thinks that lukewarm is how she feels. She hears two, short, surprising raps on her door, that causes her whole body to jolt, the mug almost slipping through her fingers.

 

She knows it's not Shoko, Shoko has a key, and even if she lost hers--which she was prone to doing--she's staying with a friend tonight, so who could be knocking on her door at 10:32 pm is a mystery to Bonnibel. She gets up and crosses the small space to the door, pulling it open to reveal a very anxious Marceline ringing her fingers and meeting Bonnie's eyes once nervously before her gaze dances away again. Bonnibel has never seen her like this before, and she wants to take a picture.

 

Marceline toes a piece of fraying carpet before saying, hurriedly and all in one breath, "Hey, uh, so I just wanted to say, I mean, about what I said today, it was fucking stupid and I was a shithead and you deserve better, and I don't know if you still even want to be friends with me anymore cause I'm a mean, antisocial loser, and you're perfect and--"

 

Marceline is grateful when Bonnibel cuts off her nervous rambling by launching forward to hug her, because she wasn’t even sure where she was going with that speech or where it would have ended and she might have stood outside the doorway of Bonnibel’s room spewing out pathetic attempts at apologies all night, had the pink haired girl not saved her the embarrassment.

 

"Apology accepted, Marcy." Bonnibel murmurs quietly against her neck in a way that tickles slightly and Marceline tries (unsuccessfully) to stop the huge smile that threatens to split her cheeks. After a moment Bonnie pulls away and Marceline frowns slightly, only to pulled into Bonnie's dorm room enthusiastically.

 

"Um, princess, just what the hell do you think you’re doing?" Marceline asks, standing awkwardly in the middle of Bonnie's dorm, not wanting to touch anything for the fear of breaking it. Bonnie giggles, because that is exactly the same thing Marceline had said to her when she had first sat down next to her in Brit. Lit. two weeks prior (she also wants to giggle because Marceline looks so uncomfortable in the unfamiliar setting and it is adorable).

 

"Well, you said we can be friends now, and I always have sleepovers with my friends." Bonnie says with a knowing grin, and Marceline is a little nervous at this information (okay, a lot).

 

"Is it too late to take that back?" she asks, but she's joking, and both girls know that there are few places Marceline would rather be.


	5. Chapter 5

"Hey, bubblegum, come here often?” Bonnibel perks up immediately upon hearing the raspy voice and Marceline tries not to let a smile split her face at the giggle that escapes Bonnibel as she does so.

 

"Hey, Marceline!” she replies brightly, trying to subtly tug some of the stray pink hairs framing her face back into the messy pile of hair on her head that she had decided earlier constituted as a bun (now she’s not sure what she would call the "hairstyle"), “What are you doing here so early? You usually don’t start setting up for another half hour.”

 

It’s a Friday night, ergo Marceline’s band is playing the Koffee Kingdom, ergo Bonnie hadn’t minded (for obvious reasons) picking up an extra shift for her co-worker Fiona after the blonde haired girl had called her earlier begging her to cover for her so that she could go to a concert with her boyfriend Marshall.

 

Marceline leans casually and coolly against the counter that Bonnie is situated behind, inky hair spilling down her back like a dark waterfall with a side sweep of bangs hovering over her eyes that Bonnibel is still debating on whether or not are black. She is wearing a gray cami accompanied with tight, black skinny jeans that highlight the curves of her body well. The jeans end in cherry-red, shiny combat boots, and Bonnibel thinks that ordinarily the combination of such random colors would bother her, but on Marceline it looks _heavenly_. There is a nervous fluttering in the pit of her stomach and she convinces herself that it is from all the caffeine she had consumed earlier, after all, what else could it be? Marceline’s shoes match the sharp, ax-bodied bass slung over her back, and it all ties together nicely.

 

“Well,” the musician begins, short cut fingernails polished black drumming lightly on the counter, “if I recall correctly, as of last Thursday you and I are friends, princess, and that means putting up with me whenever I want.”

 

Bonnie laughs, tips her head sideways and bites her bottom lip, watching Marceline half smirk at her own comment, “What did I say about calling me ‘princess’?”

 

“That it was awesome and I should continue to do it?” Marceline replies easily, her tone light and teasing, to which Bonnie rolls her eyes.

 

“If you just came to make fun of me, then you can go away.” Bonnibel kids, trying to sound stern and narrow her eyes jokingly.

 

“Nah, you’d miss me too much.” Marceline beams at her and Bonnie’s stomach flutters again. _**What is going on with me today?**_ she muses, pressing one hand lightly to the thing that feels an awful lot like butterflies in her abdomen.

 

“Also, if you gave me free coffee before I went on, that would be fucking amazing.” Marceline looks directly at Bonnibel as she says this. During their sleepover last week, Marceline had learned the Bonnie is a huge sucker for her puppy dog face (eyes wide, an adorable little pout on her face, eyelashes batting, overly affectionate) when she was craving chips from the vending machine down the hall at two in the morning and she had managed to convince (rather easily, actually) Bonnibel to get her some by merely making a dainty facial expression; the exact same one that she's pulling right now.

 

“Jesus, fuck, Marceline, are you fucking _pouting_?” Asks Keila, who has just arrived and come up behind her, only to find that her best friend--who is ever insistent on her “off-the-charts level of punk rock-ed-ness”--is pulling a puppy dog face. Keila slings an arm over Marceline’s shoulder as she watches the other girl reel and splutter.

 

“Wha-I, no. Of course not.” Marceline finally gets out, the cute look having already immediately dropped off her face upon Keila’s arrival. She shakes herself out from underneath the shorter girl’s arm.

 

“Right. Sure.” Keila replies knowingly, dragging out the words in a way that clearly indicates she doesn't believe Marceline at all before looking from the dark haired girl to Bonnibel and raising an eyebrow expectantly.

 

“Oh, shit, right. Introductions. Keila this is Bonnibel and-”

 

“We’ve met. We went to high school together.” Keila states, cutting Marceline off and winking at Bonnibel.

 

“No shit?’” Marceline asks incredulously, followed by a grumbled “Why’d you look at me like you wanted me to make introductions then?”

 

“It’s true.” Bonnie says, both her and Keila choosing to ignore Marceline’s complaining as Bonnie starts to make her coffee, “Although she does look a little different than she did back then.”

 

"Oh my god, that's right I've seen your yearbook pictures you were god damn nerd!" Marceline states teasingly, and Keila extends her middle finger in a blatantly rude (but admittedly amused) way, "but you know, I think I would have remembered a gorgeous pink-haired girl if I'd have seen one."

 

The compliment is accompanied with a wink and heat rushes to Bonnie's cheeks, turning them the exact hue of hair, before she can stop it. She tries to will the blush away as she says, "I didn't have pink hair back then, even though I wanted to dye it. And don't make fun of nerds. I'm a nerd."

 

She puts a lid on the disposable coffee cup in her hand and writes _Marceline_ on it her girly scrawl, dotting the "i" with a heart.

 

"Yeah, listen to the tiny nerd. Being smart is cool-with-a-capital-K." Keila says, poking a finger accusingly into Marceline's chest before stalking off.

 

"Cool doesn't start with the letter K!" Marceline yells after her, and she's met with another of Keila's middle fingers, this time extended high over her head as she doesn't even turn back around.

 

"Weirdo." Marceline says lovingly under her breath, shaking her head back and forth. Upon noticing her coffee order in Bonnie's hands, she immediately makes a bee-line for it with a chorus of, _gimme, gimme, gimme,_ her hands grabbing for the cup. Bonnibel holds it up behind her head and back, out of the black haired girl's reach, "Say three nice things first."

 

Marceline looks physically pained. "But, _Bonnie_ , we've been over this. I'm not a nice person, and-"

 

"I'm giving you free coffee, so you're going to be nice to me." Bonnibel states matter-of-factly, again trying (and failing) to seem stern. She tries to keep her features steeled as the little amused smile slides off Marceline's face and she lets out an overdramatic sigh.

 

"Fine. You're not tacky, you're not gross, and I don't hate you." Bonnie holds Marceline's gaze for a moment, before she sighs and realizes that this is the best she will get.

 

She hands over the cup, "We'll work on it, but I guess that'll do for now."

 

Marceline gives her a toothy grin, sipping the caffeine gratefully. "So why didn't you?"

 

"Huh?" The question is out of the blue and Bonnibel has no idea what Marceline is referring too.

 

"Your hair. You said you wanted to dye it in high school. Why didn't you?"

 

"Oh." Bonnie says. She looks sideways, away from Marceline, knowing that she will not like the answer, "Ricardio didn't want me to. He said it would look bad in prom photos." She lets out a laugh that sounds bitter even to her own ears.

 

Marceline lets out a low sound that could maybe pass for a dejected sigh, her features darkening into what Bonnibel has now recognized as the beginning signs of her being angry, "Bonnie, that guy is fucking scum. You can do so much better and-"

 

"That's not fair." Bonnibel bursts out, cutting her off and stopping the lecture before it can even start. Bonnie knows that Marceline doesn't like Ricardio (and vice versa), and she knows that Marceline has a good reason _not_ to like Ricardio, but she doesn't know him like Bonnie does.

 

"What the hell do you mean "that's not fair"? Bonnie, the dude was going to _rape_ you. You were saying no, _you repeatedly said no,_ and the douchebag still wouldn't stop. I had to literally pull him off of you and punch him in the face!" Marceline is angry now. Her teeth are clenched and her hands are in tight fists at her side.

 

"But he didn't!"

 

"Because I stopped him!" Marceline throws her hands up exasperatedly.

 

"Shouldn't you be setting up for your show?" Bonnibel says this quietly, a glimmer, the beginning sign of a tear, shining in her eye.

 

Marceline is angry. She wants to push, and she wants to continue to be angry. She wants to get it through Bonnie's head that Ricardio is a bad guy, but the broken tone in Bonnibel's voice makes her stop and take a deep breath.

 

She sighs, running a hand distraughtly through her hair and checks the time on her phone. "Yeah, I should. Thanks for the coffee." Her tone of voice is weird and almost strangled.

 

"Anytime." Bonnibel tries to smile, but it feels wrong on her face, and she'd be a fool to think Marceline didn't notice. Marceline downs the rest of her coffee and heads off to the stage.

 

Before she can even make it halfway, she turns back around and marches back over to the counter with long determined strides, pulling Bonnie into a bone-crushing hug. Bonnibel thinks that it should be awkward, because they are both leaning over the counter and she can feel it pressing harshly into her hip bone, but all she thinks is that she's never felt more at home. Her stomach however, is now fluttering as if it were on steroids.

 

"I just don't want to see you get hurt." Marceline whispers timidly in her ear and it is so quiet and so raw and Bonnie wants to know again. Bonnie wants to know who hurt Marceline and who made her push people away and who made her the way she was.

 

Instead she hugs Marceline even tighter, which until that point she didn't even know was possible, relishing in the red velvet scent that washes over her. She makes a mental note to ask Marceline what shampoo she uses.

 

Marceline pulls away, sparing Bonnie one last glance over her shoulder before she heads on stage. For most of the set, Bonnie avoids eye contact, Marceline's words still bouncing around her skull, but when the dark haired musician starts singing, in her low, alluring voice, and changing the words to _Slacks_ by St. South as she goes, Bonnibel's eyes snap right onto her, only to find that Marceline is already (had been all night) staring at her.

 

_**"Got a piece of my mind to tell you what's right."** _

 

Bonnie inhales shakily, Marceline's dark eyes boring into hers as she continues singing. She doesn't change any more words until:

 

_**"This shit's a mess, you're not his to undress."** _

 

The words strike a chord in Bonnie (and Marceline, although she'd be damned before she admitted it) and Bonnibel knows Marceline is doing this on purpose. Bonnibel's eyes leave Marceline's as she goes through most of the song. She is ashamed; of what, she doesn't know.

 

_**"I tell you every time, you're walking a fine, fine line."** _

 

Bonnie can feel Marceline willing her to find her eyes again, and so she does, listening as Marceline echoes a single line. It is haunting.

 

_**"Heard it all before."** _

 

Bonnibel feels like she's going to cry as the song draws to a close and Marceline is still looking at her with those dark eyes and Bonnie finally decides that they are black. They are the starless sky and the darkest depths of the ocean. They are the sun and the moon and they are so, so sad.

 

Marceline looks away and the band begins to play something fast and upbeat, and Marceline's black eyes aren't looking at Bonnibel anymore. After the set, Bonnie greets Marceline with an earth-shattering smile, showering her in compliments. On the walk back to the dorms, the atmosphere is as light as it always is. They don't talk about Ricardio or the song, but that's okay, because they don't need to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is more of a filler but I'm hella excited for the chapter after next


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aka the one where the shipper in me overpowered the writer in me and allowed things to progress a little quicker than I intended

Bonnibel shuffles another sheet of hastily-scrawled notes onto her already full desk that is covered from edge to edge with messily-written on pieces of notebook paper. She props her head up on her right hand as her other hand skims down the edge of her long-hand, outline-format, Physics notes with the tip of a Ticonderoga. She has been studying for what she estimates has to have been at least last three hours in preparation for a huge exam tomorrow that she has to ace. She sips from the travel mug she had refilled a little while ago, not at all concerned by the fact that she has probably consumed close to a liter and-a-half of coffee. Her eyelids are hanging heavily over her no doubt, bloodshot eyes, but they shoot open when she hears knocking on her dorm room door, and she jumps a little.

“It’s open!” she calls, grimacing at the sound of her voice, raspy from the coffee and disuse, and before she has even finished saying it the door is swinging open, allowing a confident and ever-alluring Marceline to stride in, coffee cup in one hand and a black, overnight bag slung over the opposite shoulder.

“Hey, loser, so I was-oh my god, what happened?” For a second Bonnie is confused and not really sure what Marceline’s shocked expression is referring to until she looks around herself and sees the infantry piles of loose leaf paper and the cavalry of textbooks stacked around her and her desk like a siege of public education and knowledge waiting for its attack command.

“Oh. I was studying. I have an exam tomorrow.” The words are choppy and Bonnie has to clear her throat before saying them, a testament to just how long she's been sitting at her desk, that causes worry to bloom heavily in Marceline’s chest like an unwelcome flower.

“Fuck, princess, how long have you been going at it for? It looks like a nerd bomb went off in here.” Marceline uses the “princess” as if to test just how responsive and raggedly-tired Bonnibel is as she steps over a mound of messily scrawled on notebook paper to lay a soft, worried hand on Bonnie’s visibly tense shoulders.

“Um,” Bonnibel squints at her watch, her eyes bleary and fuzzy from focusing on her own hand-writing for so long, “Since two so I guess it’s been, woah, six hours?”

 _“Six hours?_ Damn, you must be tired.” Marceline knows that that’s an understatement. Bonnie is exhausted, she can tell because the pink-haired girl hadn’t even reprimanded her for calling her princess, something Bonnie always outwardly protested even though Marceline is pretty sure she secretly enjoys it.

“Yeah, a little bit.” Bonnie says as she leans into Marceline’s hand on her shoulder that has now started to draw little circles with its forefinger, “Mmm, that feels nice.”

Marceline moves so that she is standing directly behind Bonnibel’s chair, nudging a stack of Physics formulae out of its ranks as she does so, although she's careful not to disturb too many of Bonnie’s what she's sure are meticulously organized piles. She places both her hands on Bonnie’s shoulders.

 “Shit, Bon, your shoulders are _really_ tense.” She kneads, pushing her thumbs deep into what she estimates to be a pretty bad knot right at the base of Bonnie’s neck, causing a delicious noise, a hot, incredible, wanton _sound_ , to fall out of Bonnibel’s mouth as she does so and it almost makes Marceline wish she hadn’t crossed over the front lines of Bonnie’s textbooks, because the noise brings her into a dangerous state that is borderline turned on.

 The sound that Marceline elicits from the pink-haired girl is a cross between a whimper and a moan (Marceline thinks it sounds an awful lot like sex), Bonnie having scooted as far back against her chair as she could so as to expose more of her upper back to Marceline’s hands, her eyes having fallen closed from the ecstasy of the black-haired girl’s agile fingers pressing into the sorest parts of her shoulder. Marceline freezes as the noise echoes through the room, hands halting, and tries to take a deep breath (a difficult feat when attempting to do so quietly in the otherwise silence of Bonnie’s dorm).

  _Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, that was fucking hot._ Marceline thinks, lip tugged alluringly between her teeth, as progressively dirtier pictures pass through her mind. _Wait, no! Stop that! She is your friend, dammit! Your straight friend! You will not-_

"Hey, why’d you stop?” Bonnie asks, opening one eye and tilting her head back to look up at Marceline, interrupting the girl’s internal struggle.

 “Sorry.” She says, flashing her a smile as her fingers immediately return to untwisting the knots from Bonnibel’s shoulder muscles as the smaller girl closes her eyes again.

 Marceline’s face heats at having done something stupid such as freezing up like that, and though she knows Bonnie can’t see it, she’s embarrassed. She’s trying desperately to will away the less-than-platonic images filling her head, but it’s not easy when Bonnibel is sighing and moaning under the hard work of her very capable fingers. _Oh god, I shouldn’t have thought that_. Marceline thinks and now it’s as if she’s purposefully torturing herself by continuing to massage Bonnibel’s shoulders and neck. Her hands pull all kinds of sounds from the girl, steadily working Marceline into a worse and worse state, and when Bonnie lets out a particularly loud and satisfied moan followed by an “oh my _god_ , don't stop!” it sets Marceline’s veins on fire and she thinks she just might die, which is why she’s extremely grateful when her phone vibrates and gives her an excuse to put her hands some place a lot less dangerous.

 

**Floor Don (fiona): yo where u at cool cat**

 

Bonnie, immediately noticing the absence of Marceline’s hands on her skin, looks lazily over her shoulder to see what has the other girl so preoccupied.

 

**Marceline (rm 309): im spending the night w a friend**

 

**Marceline (rm 309): she's in Next to Rock That Looks Like A Big Butt Hall**

 

Marceline lets out a snicker at this, and Bonnie of course wants to know what's so funny, demanding the dark-haired girl share whatever comedic gold she had managed to scrounge up on her cellphone. The musician tilts the screen into view, Bonnibel’s eyes scanning over the text thread lightly before coming into contact with “Rock That Looks Like A Big Butt Hall”. She gasps, hitting Marceline on the arm (who has now erupted into full-on laughter), before scoldingly telling her the actual name of the dorm.

 

**Marceline (rm 309): ive been recently informed that it's Lemongrab Hall and not “Next to Rock That Looks Like A Big Butt Hall” my apologies**

 

**Floor Don (fiona): lol k thanks. some guy was here asking for u**

 

**Marceline (rm 309): what he want?**

 

**Floor Don (fiona): dunno. didn't say**

 

Marceline’s brows draw together at this, wondering who she could've pissed off recently, but she shrugs it off, locking her phone and sliding it into her back pocket.

 She looks down at Bonnie, who has returned to her studying, and groans quite dramatically.

 “Bon _nie.”_ she says, dragging out the ending like a stubborn child that has not gotten its way, “Stop studying and hang out with me.”

 “Marcy, this is important.” Bonnibel replies, the nickname rolling off her tongue without thought, but she's too focused on her notes to mull over whether or not it suits the dark haired beauty.

 “I’m important-er.” Bonnibel fixes Marceline with a look that states she's clearly not impressed with the girl’s vocabulary.

 “That’s not a real word. The comparative form of ‘important’ is ‘more important’.” she states matter-of-factly. Marceline’s nose scrunches up at this and Bonnie’s stomach flutters at the adorable expression. _Why does this keep happening?_ She muses, placing a hand on her abdomen and making a mental note to slow down on her caffeine intake.

 “What the hell is a comparative form?”

 “Adjectives used when comparing two nouns.” Bonnie replies without thought, not even glancing up from her old lab notes.

 “I’ll play something for you if you stop being a nerd and hang out with me.” Marceline sings, knowing just how to persuade the other girl. Bonnie whirls around in her chair at the prospect, eyes wide like a child in a candy store, but then she crosses her arms, looking at Marceline skeptically.

 “You don't even have an instrument with you.” She says, narrowing her eyes accusingly.

 “Ah, but that's where you're wrong, princess.” Marceline points out devilishly, ignoring Bonnibel’s protest of “don't call me princess” and reaching into the overnight bag she’d previously dropped, pulling out a simple, red ukulele and holding it up for Bonnibel to see. Bonnibel seems to consider the offer for a moment.

 “Okay then.” She agrees after a beat, quickly giving in and moving from her desk to settle on her bed, leaving room to her right and patting the spot indicating that Marceline should come sit.

 She does so, getting comfortable on the bed before playing with the tuning on her small instrument quickly, all the while Bonnibel looks at her like she’s one of the science experiments that she finds so fascinating. Marceline begins strumming, before changing her mind and going with a finger-plucking style instead.

 “Are you gonna sing too?” The pink haired girl asks after a little bit.

 “If you want me to.” Marceline returns easily, already switching the key and chords in the event that Bonnie says yes.

 “If you don't mind.” Bonnibel returns shyly, trying not to demand too much as her eyes track Marceline’s nimble fingers and their dance over the fretboard of the small instrument.

 “Mmkay.” She plays a quick intro before her raspy yet somehow soft and smooth voice takes Bonnie to heaven.

 

_**This is for the lions livin’ in the wiry, broke-down frames of my friends’ bodies.** _

 

She continues for a little while and just as always, Bonnibel is completely mesmerized.

 

_**This is for the snakes and the people they bite, for the friends I’ve made--** _

 

At this point, Marceline's shoulder bumps playfully into Bonnie's and she smiles widely at her, Bonnibel returning the grin broadly and withholding the desire to point out that it was actually her who had befriended Marceline, despite the loner’s protests early on. The raven-haired musician continues singing the same melody before it changes, along with the accompanying music from the ukulele, into some sort of bridge.

 

_**It’s no big surprise you turned out this way when they closed their eyes and prayed you would change and they cut your hair. They sent you away. You stopped by my house the night you escaped. With tears in my eyes, I begged you to stay. You said, “Hey, man, I love you, but no fuckin’ way”.** _

 

Marceline pauses at this part, halting her playing while she hums for a second.

 “I don't remember any moreof the words.” she admits sheepishly, sounding a little embarrassed as her cheeks take on the barest shade of red.

 “That’s okay. It was beautiful.” the cotton-candy haired girl remarks, meaning every word of it, “Did you write it?”

 “Nah, it's _Twin Size Mattress_ by The Front Bottoms. I wish I could write songs like them.” Marceline tells Bonnie while she absentmindedly strums chords on her instrument.

 “I’m sure your songs are great.” Bonnie tries to assure her, her hand grazing the other girl’s shoulder lightly.

 “They’re average, at best. Shit, average is kinda my thing.” Marceline says, and Bonnibel knows a cheeky-grin is covering the girl’s features even though the other girl’s dark eyes are focused on the strings her fingers are ghosting so expertly over.

 “I think you're incredible.” Bonnibel breathes out, and she's not sure why she whispers it, but it feels right and she in no way regrets the gentle tone of her voice. Especially not when Marceline’s head snaps up suddenly, studying Bonnibel intently, and now all that both girls are aware of is the fact that their faces are very, very close together.

 Bonnie is inches away from Marceline’s black eyes, face to face with a night sky absent of stars, and when Marceline exhales, Bonnibel feels the ghost of it on the edge of her upper lip. Her eyes that had previously been focused on Marceline’s drop to the girl’s mouth that had allowed the air to pass out of it and onto Bonnibel’s own mouth, before she realizes what she's doing, what she’s hinting at, and quickly shoots her gaze back up to Marceline’s eyes.

 Marceline, already confused by the situation they’ve managed to find themselves in, is somehow even more confused when she sees Bonnie do this. _Fuck, does she want me to kiss her? Staring at someone’s mouth preludes a kiss right?_ She glances at Bonnibel’s inviting and soft looking lips, pulling her own bottom one between her teeth as she does so. _Wait, shit, she's straight. Stop right now._ But somehow, even though her mind is telling her not to, she’s tempted. She’s so tempted. All she would have to do is lean in, just a little. All she would have do is shift a few inches forward and they would be kissing. Marceline leans in a breath hair further, just the barest fraction of an inch, and Bonnie does as well, her eyes once again dropping to Marceline’s mouth.

  _Is she going to kiss me?_ The pink-haired girl wonders, her boyfriend the furthest thing from her mind as Marceline’s delicious looking lips move toward her own a centimeter at a time. _Do I want her to kiss me?_ She thinks, her stomach once again erupting into that fluttery feeling that she's starting to become accustomed to as her eyes wander down to Marceline’s lips again that appear surprisingly pink and soft. _Oh, screw it._ Bonnie finally decides, beginning to lean in as well. Their noses brush and Bonnie’s eyes flutter closed in anticipation. For some reason, all Marceline can think about is the way Bonnibel’s moans had sounded earlier. How she’d like to hear the sounds again. Marceline’s tongue darts quickly out of her mouth, moistening her lips before--

 “Fuck!” Marceline curses loudly, jumping away from Bonnibel at the sound of three, heavy knocks on the door of the girl’s dorm and Bonnie just giggles at her.

 Bonnibel rises from the bed, throwing Marceline a look over her shoulder, and moves over to the door, pulling it open halfway to reveal a young guy in a tailored suit. The first thing she notices about him is the color of his hair. It is so blond it's almost white and he has it spiked messily, as if he had very strategically run his fingers through it to make it appear elegantly disheveled. His suit fits him well and his mere stance and presence exude a combined aura of power and arrogance. His eyes are a sickly shade of green that almost makes them appear yellow and cat-like. She doesn't know why, but she decides almost immediately that she doesn't like him.

 “I’m looking for Marceline Abadeer. I was told I could find her here.” He says, and it only justifies Bonnibel’s earlier opinion of him, proving what she had already assumed. He doesn't actually ask if she's there, nor does he greet Bonnie in anyway. Quite frankly, it's just plain rude. Quite frankly, _he’s_ just plain rude.

 She wants to flat out tell him ‘no’, maybe even shut the door in his smug-looking face, but discreetly checks over her shoulder to look at Marceline, whose body on the bed is shielded from the stranger’s view by the half-closed door, because this could be important to her in some way, and Bonnibel would hate to cause problems in the other girl’s life.

 She feels her blood turn to ice in her veins.

 Marceline is frozen, her skin having taken on a pallid, chalky color, and she looks as if she might vomit at any second. Her breath looks like it is caught somewhere in her throat, and her heart may very well have stopped beating, but the thing that really gets to Bonnie, the thing that really worries her, is the absolute fear that is apparent in Marceline’s black eyes. She is _terrified_. Bonnibel turns back to the cause of her fear that is still standing impatiently in her doorframe (Bonnie has never considered herself a violent person, but right now she wants to smack that stupid, entitled look right off his face).

 “No. Sorry. She’s not here.” Bonnibel says curtly, hoping that the stranger will leave it at that and, well, leave.

 “Really? Because the supervisor of her floor informed me that I could find her here.” He replies, trying not-so-subtlety to peak over Bonnibel’s shoulder and into the room. The pink haired girl pulls the door a little closer to her body, a little closer to being closed.

 “Yeah, she’s in the shower.”

 “Fine. I can wait.”

 “You really shouldn’t,” Bonnie replies, almost tartly, hoping that the dude will just take the freaking hint and go away, “She usually takes hours in there. Could be awhile.”

 The well-dressed stranger sighs at this, putting a hand to his forehead and making a show of checking his ridiculously expensive watch, tapping his shoe impatiently. After a few minutes he realizes that Bonnibel really isn't going to let him in or tell him Marceline’s actual location, and sighs again. He reaches into his inside jacket pocket, extracting a cream colored envelope smelling faintly of lavender and sealed with an honest-to-god crimson wax emblem.

 “Ensure that she gets this. Tell her she's welcome to bring a suiting, _male_ guest.” And with that, he turns on his heel and heads back down the way he undoubtedly came. Bonnie shuts the door.

 “Hey.” she says, when she's back on the bed. She places a hand delicately on Marceline’s shoulder, who is still frozen staring intently at her empty hands, having placed her instrument on Bonnie’s dresser, “Who was that?”

 “Ash.” Marceline responds weakly still not looking up from her hands and providing no further explanation, “Thanks for not letting him in.”

 “He said to give you this.” Bonnibel tells her, placing the envelope gingerly in Marceline’s fingers. The dark-haired girl turns it over, her fingertips ghosting over the emblem burned into the red wax of the seal. She tears it open violently then.

 “Fuck.” she says, after having read one line from the parchment inside. It seems to snap her out of her trance. _“Fuck.”_

 “Princess, I need you to do me a huge favor.” Marceline remarks suddenly, turning to face the other girl whose hand is still tracing small patterns comfortingly on Marceline’s shoulder with the tip of her forefinger.

"Anything.” Bonnibel responds immediately.

 “I need you to go to my billionaire father's stuffy dinner party with me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR YOUR WONDERFUL COMMENTS (: they honest to god make my day and all of you are so lovely <3 I apologize I took so long to update this, I've been suffering a little writer's block with this story, but if you want to send me prompts for a one shot you could do that in the comments or on tumblr (@miskienisdaarietsandersasekenjy) and I think writing a couple of those will help get me back into the zone with this story! thanks so much!


	7. Chapter 7

     “So, uh, do you want to talk about yesterday?” Marceline asks, nervously twisting one of the ever-present leather bands around her wrist and chewing on her bottom lip, the very same lip that had almost kissed Bonnie’s yesterday. 

     They have been in the spacious backseat of a car that Marceline’s father had arranged to collect her (“because you never can seem to arrive to these sorts of things on time, darling”) and her “date” for tonight’s festivities for the past hour. It’s just like her dad to spring an invitation on her the day before the event  _and_ to send it with Ash. And now they have to sit in this not-quite-awkward-but-definitely-tense atmosphere on account of what might have been a kiss yesterday. If Marceline was driving it would at least give her something to do with her hands and some other thing to focus her eyes on (the thing of course being how incredible Bonnibel looks in her cotton-candy colored dress that matches the exact shade of her hair, like seriously, Marceline actually thought she would pass out when she first saw her). 

     Bonnie looks over at the dark-haired musician sympathetically, “Yeah, I am a little curious about that guy. I’ve never seen you act like that before.”

     Marceline’s face falls before she can catch it and she physically feels her heart sinking to her toes, something Bonnie attributes to the mention of Ash. Obviously the almost kiss hadn’t meant anything, Marceline feels so stupid. Of course Bonnie had no interest in talking about it. It probably wasn’t even  _going_ to be a kiss, and Marceline had just severely misread the situation, taken it for something it wasn’t. She’s sure Bonnie was just . . . crap, doing something else? Some other thing that required her to bring her face nose to nose with Marceline’s but definitely not a kiss. Maybe she was trying to grab something on her nightstand and was just reaching across Marceline to do it? While staring deeply into Marceline’s eyes and looking at her lips because she saw that Marceline had something in her teeth, or something. And she wasn’t closing her eyes or anything she was just blinking and Marceline’s heart was pounding so quickly that it caused time to slow down. How could she have been so dumb? Bonnibel is straight. Even if she isn’t, why would she, perfect, sweet, generous, incredibly beautiful Bonnibel, go after Marceline of all people? 

     And it’s not even like Marceline would pursue her too. Not like Marceline cares or has any kind of feelings for Bonnie that go beyond a strong, platonic friendship. Not like Marceline has a crush on her.  _Definitely_ not like Marceline has a crush on her best friend. (Who the hell is she trying to fool?)

     “If you don’t want to talk to me about it, I understand and that’s fine. I’m not going to force you to do something you’re not comfortable with.” Bonnibel tells her honestly, giving her a reassuring smile to drive the point home that she won’t be upset with Marceline should the girl choose not to share her experience with the well-dressed stranger of yesterday.

     “Huh?” Marceline replies eloquently, ever the scintillating linguist and having no idea what Bonnie has just asked her on account of her self-denial of her feelings.

     “Ash. The response he elicited from you. Do you want to talk about it?” Bonnibel reminds her, tone as gentle as the hand she lovingly places on Marceline’s shoulder, something she’s started to notice herself doing a lot of lately. 

     Come to think of it actually, Bonnibel has noticed herself initiating more and more physical contact in general with the other girl. And then of course there was the. . . _**thing** _. . . that had happened yesterday. Bonnie still doesn’t quite know what to make of it. She could be wrong but, it seemed an awful lot like her and one of her closest friends as of late were about to kiss. And then the knock on the door had happened interrupting whatever it was that _was_ going to happen. But to Bonnie’s disappointment the other girl hadn't breathed a word about it since. Perhaps Marceline was never actually even attempting to kiss her and was merely trying to hug her or something innocent like that and Bonnibel had just mistaken their close proximity as being more intimate than it was.

     Because Marceline’s straight (isn’t she?), and even if she isn’t Bonnie is (isn’t she?), and she’s with Ricardio who she loves (doesn’t she?), so hypothetically, even if she had wanted to kiss Marceline (she had) it wouldn’t have mattered. Either way, it’s not as if Bonnibel has romantic feelings for Marceline. Dark, mysterious, and tragically-gorgeous Marceline, who is looking at Bonnibel with her bottom lip pulled between her teeth and wreaking havoc on her heartbeat and stomach, as the dark-haired beauty debates whether or not to share her past with Bonnibel.

     Bonnie’s hand on her shoulder slides down to her bicep (leaving goosebumps in its wake the Marceline prays Bonnibel doesn’t notice), stroking the exposed skin there delicately with the pad of her thumb. Actually, if we’re talking exposed skin, Marceline’s upper arms don’t even compare to the rest of the body that she’s put on show tonight, her low-cut, tight, black, strapless dress hugging her hips and torso and highlighting her curvaceous figure. Earlier this evening when Bonnie had seen her for the first time her throat had gone dry. Tonight Marceline is every fire in hell burning on one, heavenly body. 

     Marceline, having made a decision on just how much to confide in Bonnie, inhales deeply and begins, “Okay, so I’m not telling you this because I want your pity or anything. I’m telling you because I mostly trust you even though I’ve only known you for a little while and that’s usually really hard for me.” Marceline flashes her a small smile, continuing upon noticing the soft, encouraging and reassuring smile upon Bonnie’s own face.

     “So yesterday I called my dad a billionaire and that’s not exactly true, because he’s got a lot more money than that. He runs the Nightosphere.”

     “The vodka company?” Bonnibel asks, scrunching her nose and pulling a face as some of the few, unfortunate times she’d been persuaded to partake in the bitter alcoholic beverage flash in her memory. Marceline chuckles softly.

     “Among other things, yeah. He’s great at running his company, but he’s a shitty-ass, fucking father. He’s been trying to get me with Ash for basically my whole life, even after he, uh--” Marceline breaks off suddenly, not seeming to be able to force the words out of her throat as pain rises in her irises, the unknown traumatic memory threatening to drown her and steal her from the present moment.

     “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me details if you’re not ready to. Just move past that part.” Bonnibel tells her, having a pretty decent idea how that sentence was going to finish, her hand on Marceline’s bicep moving up to rub soothing circles into the alabaster skin of Marceline’s back. She nods thankfully before continuing.

     “But yeah. Um, he kinda sucks as a father because of that whole ordeal and the only reason he wants me with Ash is so that he can have an ‘heir to the throne’ or whatever. Well that and he has no regard for my own personal happiness.”

     “That’s terrible. I’m sorry you have to go through that.” Bonnibel tells her sincerely, meaning every word and wishing above all else that she could take Marceline’s pain away, or at the very least lessen it. 

     Marceline nods in acknowledgement of Bonnie’s statement, feeling ashamed of the things she has allowed to be done to her and looking down, unwilling to meet Bonnibel’s eyes as the same painful memories that haunt her dreams repaint themselves onto the backs of Marceline’s eyelids. 

     Bonnie must notice that shameful way that Marceline hides her eyes, because she puts two fingers of her right hand under Marceline’s chin and lifts her face to look her straight in her starless night sky eyes and says, with more conviction than she’s said anything in her whole life, “Marcy, _none_ of that is your fault.”

     And because of the way she says it, and because it’s Bonnie, Marceline starts to believe for the very first time that maybe it's not. 

     Bonnibel’s fingers move from their position under her chin to her cheek, cradling the soft skin of the dark haired girl’s face in her palm, and for the second time in as many days they find their faces very close together. Bonnie’s looking at her with a kind of softness that Marceline has never seen directed at her before and once again she is so  **_so_ ** tempted to kiss her, but this time the rational part of her brain wins out, reminding her that if it was something that Bonnie wanted she would have kissed her yesterday, so she breaks eye contact, turning to look out the window and clears her throat.

     “We’re here.” she tells Bonnie, and maybe Marceline’s just being hopeful but the expression on Bonnibel’s face dangerously resembles disappointment, before she too turns to look out the window.

     “Oh. My god.” she breathes, trying to soak up all of the beautiful surroundings that she can.

     The hills, blanketed in shimmering undisturbed snow, roll out for miles, stretching all the way back to the tree line of a dense forest that surrounds the estate on three sides. The car they are in is driving down a wide paved driveway, absent of a single crack. Topiary lines the path on both sides, taking all shapes and sizes but always remaining symmetrical. The sun has just begun setting and its rosy fingertips are bleeding across the horizon, turning the sky from its normal blue into hazy oranges and delicate yellows.

     Marceline chuckles at Bonnie’s wonder struck face pressed up against the glass, “If you think this is good just wait ‘till you see the god damn house.”

     And as Marceline says this, she does. It’s so huge that Bonnie isn't sure how she didn't see it before. It's at least three stories high and Bonnibel isn't even going to try to guess how long and and wide it is, nor how many rooms it has. 

     The driveway rounds a full circle, and their car slows to a stop near the grand entrance, their driver exiting and pulling the door open for them to slide out. The cold air meets Bonnibel’s skin, causing goosebumps to raise on her bare arms, but Marceline looks perfectly unaffected and comfortable in the cold. She mounts the steps leading toward the front door, a still starstruck Bonnie trailing after her and staring at what she's pretty sure is actually a castle. They enter the monstrous building, and a dark, well-dressed man immediately strides over to greet them.

     Marceline’s whole demeanor physically changes. Bonnibel watches, as if under a spell, as Marceline’s usual slouch is replaced by her now straight backed posture. The air surrounding her turns to a note of confidence, and a cocky half smile has turned up one corner of her mouth. Marceline, although she is in heels, couldn't be more than two inches taller than her, but Bonnibel feels as though she is being towered over. The look in Marceline’s eyes is feline, predatory almost. And although Bonnibel can't explain why, she is intimidated. She is also very, very attracted.

     “Father.” Marceline greets the man who has finally reached them, her voice more sultry and silky than normal, and although she's smiling at her dad, the words are somehow too sickly sweet and Bonnie knows she doesn't mean them, “How lovely to see you again.” 

     “You too, my child.” He says, leaning to kiss her lightly on the cheek, “and who might this gorgeous young lady be?” 

     Marceline's dad turns his gaze on Bonnibel and she has to hold back a gasp. For a second she could swear that they were yellow and cat-like slits, but it must have been a trick of the light, because when she looks closer she sees that all he has are normal amber shaded eyes. 

     Marceline wraps an arm around Bonnie’s waist that feels almost protective, and pulls the pink haired girl a little closer to her side. Electricity dances along Bonnie's spine, tingling from the place where Marceline’s hand rests at the small of her back. “This is my companion, Bonnibel.” Marceline tells her father, gazing down at Bonnie with a soft smile, before her eyes flit back to her father’s face. For a split second he looks enraged.

     “Delighted to meet you, Bonnibel. My name is Hunson Abadeer, I’m Marceline's father, and we’re overjoyed to have you here. Please do enjoy your evening. The rest of the guests are right through there.” The look in his eyes is venomous and Bonnie gets the inkling that this man does not like her presence one bit, but she thanks him anyway and heads in the direction he had indicated with Marceline’s arm still wrapped firmly around her waist.

     “I absolutely loathe that man.” She hisses between her teeth into Bonnie’s ear as they enter the room crowded with rich looking, well dressed men and women. Bonnibel tries not to shiver at the feeling of Marceline’s hot breath hitting her neck as she says so. She swallows hard.

     “You seem, uh, a little different.” She manages to stutter to the dark haired girl.

     “How so, princess?” She answers, plucking a chute of bubbly champagne from a passing waiter’s tray and gracefully bringing it to her red lips, swiping a drop of it off the corner of her mouth after swallowing. Bonnie hungrily takes in the sight.

     “More, um, confident, I guess?” it comes out more like a question than a statement.

     Marceline laughs throatily and somehow even  _ that  _ is seductive. Everything she’s doing is oozing sex appeal. 

     “I’m just play acting, cupcake. This is a dog-eat-dog community. Confidence is everything. Care for a dance?” Even her diction is different. Bonnie is so allured by this new attitude of Marceline’s that she almost misses the question.

      “Oh, um, yeah. Of course.”

     Marceline places her now empty glass on the tray of another waiter that rushes past her, and takes Bonnie by the hand, leading her to the center of the floor where couples are twirling to the music being lovingly played by a quartet off to one side of the grand ballroom. 

     Marceline gently draws Bonnie closer, her hands resting idly on Bonnibel’s hips while Bonnie’s hands find their way to the back of Marceline's neck. Her fingers lovingly stroke the short hair at the nape of the dark haired girl’s neck and Bonnibel realizes with delight that this is the first time she has touched the other girl’s hair. It’s softer than she originally thought. 

     “You know,” Marceline drawls, leaning in to whisper into the shell of Bonnie’s ear, her slow voice making Bonnibel all but quiver, “traditionally waltzing was done chest to chest. In fact, it was quite scandalous in the 1600s.” 

     Bonnie gulps, because she did know that. She learned it last semester in her Origins of Traditional Dance class, as it was required for all students to take at least one humanitarian course. But as Marceline draws Bonnibel closer, her heart pounding loudly in her chest and ears, she realizes that waltzing with the sweaty boy in her class was nothing like this. The way Marceline spins them and cradles Bonnie’s body against her own, it’s incredible. Marceline’s hand on Bonnibel’s right hip begins to trace light circles with its thumb, and due to their proximity, every time she exhales it fans out across the sensitive skin at Bonnie’s neck. Bonnibel is a little worried she might pass out. 

     Bonnie doesn't know how long they dance like that for, and she is so lost in Marceline that she almost doesn't notice when the warmth leaves her. She looks up to find Ash facing Marceline, who holds herself with regal confidence.

     “Mind if I cut in?” Ash says, sporting a grin that although appears polite, Bonnibel knows it is designed to get under Marceline’s skin as he gestures toward Bonnibel. Bonnie thinks he can't be serious. 

     “Actually,” Marceline all but growls, pulling Bonnibel close to her in what is an almost aggressive manner, wrapping an arm around her shoulder while both of Bonnie’s snake around her waist, “the gorgeous Bonnibel and I were just about to move to our table, as dinner is being served shortly. Isn’t that correct, princess?”

     “Yeah.” Bonnie says moving closer to Marceline’s side and trying to hide the smile that threatens to grace her features at the way Ash’s face turns to a disgusted scowl at their proximity.

     “Another time perhaps.” He says, before stalking off. Both Bonnie and Marceline laugh at his retreating back once he’s out of earshot.

     “That was wonderful. I could kiss you right now.” Marceline tells Bonnie, looking down on her with a dazzling smile. 

**_It’s a figure of speech, Bon._ ** she tells herself, before smiling back.

     “You know, I haven't heard you use a swear word all night.” Bonnie points out, directing the subject away from them kissing, no matter how figuratively.

     (She’s straight, she’s straight, she’s  _ straight. _ )

     “Ha. My father would skin me alive.” Marceline replies, before looking at an ornate clock hanging on one wall, “However, it's only eight o’clock, so don't count me out yet.” She winks and Bonnibel thinks she just might die.

     “Come.” Marceline leads her off the dance floor by her hand and toward the cluster of occupied tables.

     They sit down, however Marceline rises again quickly after her name is called by someone behind her. Bonnibel turns, finding a girl in a gorgeous swirling cream dress that upon first glance Bonnie thought was ice cream, and interestingly enough, a brown headband with an ice cream cone on it holding her hair up in its bun, striding toward Marceline in what looks like anger. A little worried, she glances at Marceline only to find that the dark haired girl has a large grin stretched across her face.

     “I know that's not Marceline Abadeer, because the Marceline Abadeer I know would never come to one of her father’s drab parties without calling or at least saying hello.” the girl, having finally reached Marceline, begins to lecture her quite sternly while Marceline only laughs, before pulling the girl into a hug.

     “Nice to see you too, Florence.” Bonnie is very confused.

     “You bet your ass it is, I look great.”

     “Language, Florence. You always did have a dirty mouth.” Marceline reprimands the other girl, and coming from her Bonnibel almost wants to laugh. (she probably would were she not so confused.) 

     “You never complained about how dirty my mouth was when I had my tongue—” Marceline’s eyes go wide in terror as she slaps a hand over the grinning mouth of the girl in front of her, looking back at a shocked Bonnie in horror.

     “Florence! I have a guest! Would you mind not making such crass insinuations?” Marceline scolds, removing her hand and giving Florence a purposeful look as the other girl notices Bonnie for what seems to be the first time.

     “Who’s this then? Over me already?” Florence quips, winking at Bonnie as she moves around the table to sit opposite her and Marceline who has reclaimed her previous seat.

     “Florence Sorbet, this is my  _friend_ **_,_ ** Bonnibel Banner.” Marceline tells the girl across from them, stressing the word friend.

     “Right. And how long has she been your ‘friend’ for? Usually it doesn't take you longer than a week to convince a girl to jump into bed with you.” Florence teases, completely ignoring Bonnie’s wide eyes and open mouth before adding, “Oh and everyone except for this old stiff calls me Fro-yo. Or Frozen Yogurt Princess if you're feeling particularly gracious. Pleasure to meet you Bonnibel. Pretty name.”

     Bonnibel is shocked and spluttering, and Marceline is looking at Fro-yo with murderous eyes. Florence looks between Marceline and Bonnie several times before realization dawns on her and she begins laughing rather loudly, all but doubling over, and receiving agitated looks from the people surrounding them.

     “Oh my god, Marceline, you didn’t, she doesn't, how could you not, oh my  _god_ **_._ ** How does she not know?” Fro-yo finally manages to get the sentence out between laughs and now Bonnie just feels lost.

     “How do I not know what?” Bonnibel asks, glancing from a still laughing Florence to a glaring Marceline.

     “Marcy?” she asks, and Marceline turns to look at her, eyes immediately softening. 

     “Bonnibel, there’s something you should—”

     “Dude, she’s  _gay."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hey everybody! i am back and better than ever and ready to get this fanfic GOING!!!!! let's DO THIS THING!!!


	8. Chapter 8

     Fro-yo is giggling, watching the shocked look on Bonnibel’s face.

     “I—wha?” Bonnie splutters which sends Florence into another laughing fit and Marceline just looks mortified.

     “How do you know?” Bonnibel turns to Fro-yo, who wipes a fake tear from her eye as servers come around to the many tables with plates of food.

     “I’ve literally had her fingers inside me. Trust me, she’s gay.”

_“Florence.”_ Marceline grits while Bonnie drops a forkful of the food she was raising to her mouth, her cheeks flaming as Fro-yo continues to laugh at Bonnibel’s reaction.

     “That’s quite enough out of you.” Marceline tells the girl across from her angrily who seems far from fazed.

     “Wow you must really like this one. Chill out.” Florence replies teasingly, sticking her tongue out.

     “Bonnibel and I are _just friends.”_ Marceline says hotly, and Bonnie tries to ignore the sinking feeling the statement causes in her chest.

     (Because she’s _straight,_ for god’s sake.)

     “Okay, okay.” Florence finally admonishes, raising both hands in mock surrender before starting in on her food.

     “I’m sorry to have that sprung on you so suddenly. Are you alright?” Marceline is leaning over and whispering directly into Bonnie’s ear and for not the first time this evening her hot breath threatens to send shivers racing up and down Bonnibel’s spine.

     “I mean, yeah, of course, you know i’m totally pro-equality and like, this won't change anything in our friendship ‘cause I know a lot of people think that gay people are attracted to everyone of their same gender—not that I think that! I get that sexuality is like a nuanced thing and all, I just—”

     “Slow down, kitten. You’re rambling.” Marceline drawls, cutting her off. The sensual way Marceline’s tongue curls around the new nickname paired with the alluring confidence she’s sporting tonight has Bonnibel a mess of confusing hormones. She swallows. Hard.

     “Right. Sorry. I just. Yeah. I’m good. We’re good.”

     “Lovely.” with that, Marceline withdraws back into her seat. She raises her spoon to her mouth, eating gracefully, which is something Bonnibel never thought she would think about anyone. She clears her throat.

     “So, Fro-yo? How’d you get that nickname?” Bonnie asks, directing her attention away from the increasingly more attractive Marceline and unto someone a little less dangerous.

     “My parents own some huge frozen yogurt shop franchise, plus my last name also has something to do with frozen yogurt, so yeah. Just kind of fit.”

     “Is  _ everyone _ here rich?” Bonnie asks to no one in particular, finally paying more attention to the people around her.

     “Most of them, yes.” Marceline answers in her silk voice.

     “Wow.” she breathes in response. The other two girls nod, accustomed to being surrounded by wealth.

     “So you two dated then?” Bonnibel poses the question in the hopes of sparking conversation. Marceline sends Florence a playful smile.

     “In a manner of speaking.”

     “Oh, shut up. We were together for like, five months. It totally counts as dating.” Fro-yo counters, rolling her eyes, “That is, of course, until she broke my heart.” She adds, wiping a fake tear from one eye and clutching dramatically at her heart. Marceline scoffs.

_"You_ broke up with _me.”_ She points out to the other girl, grinning nevertheless.

     “True.” Florence answers, shoving a forkful of food into her mouth, “but we were both really only in it for the sex, so it's not like you were all that torn up about it.”

     Marceline, although she does send another warning glare at the girl in the cream colored dress across from her, seems satisfied with this fact and doesn't bother countering.

     “What about you, Bonnibel?” Fro-yo asks, directing the conversation back at Bonnie.

     “What about me what?” she replies, not entirely sure what the other girl is hinting at.

     “Who’s giving you mind-blowing sex?”

     “Florence, I swear to _god—”_ Marceline immediately jumps to her defense, before she’s cut off by her father’s voice.

     “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! I hope you’re all having a lovely night, but if I could just steal a moment of your time.” The sounds of cutlery being placed back onto plates is heard in all corners of the room as everyone directs their attention towards Hunson Abadeer in the middle of the dance floor.

     “Now as I’m sure you all know, my daughter Marceline is exceptional at classical viola when she’s not joking around with those silly electrical instruments.” Bonnie doesn't miss Marceline’s grip on the edge of the table turn white as her dad bashes her talents quite publicly, and in an effort to calm her down, she places a hand on her exposed thigh and gives it what she had thought would be a reassuring squeeze, only reassuring is definitely not the kind of reaction it elicits.

     Marceline whimpers, small and quiet and throaty--because, okay, Bonnie’s hand is really,  _ really _ high up on her thigh, and the sound alone does things to Bonnie that she’ll never admit to anyone even if they were to put a gun to her head. Marceline’s cheeks flame almost immediately and Bonnibel avoids looking at her, trying to pretend as if she hadn’t hear anything. (Florence, however, does hear and the color of Marceline’s cheeks have also given her some insight into what could be happening between the two girls across from her. She says nothing.)

     Marceline tries to quietly take a deep breath and steady herself. She knows that the only reason Bonnibel’s middle finger is tracing light circles into the skin of her upper thigh is because she's trying to comfort her in the most discreet way possible. (Comfort is the last effect it has on Marceline.) And how could Bonnie have known how sensitive her thighs are? How was Bonnibel to discern that butterfly touches, the very same butterfly touches that Bonnie’s hand is dangerously gracing her flesh with at this very moment, could bring her right up to (if not push her over) the edge? How was Bonnie supposed to know that the shapes she’s dragging out on the tops of her thighs could turn (have turned) Marceline into a wanting mess? How was Bonnibel supposed to know that she’s lighting a fire in Marceline’s belly, an ache tugging at her, pulling at her abdomen, just  _ begging  _ to be soothed? She doesn’t know of course. But she had heard, she had to have heard, the whimper it had pulled free from Marceline’s throat, and she definitely might know now. (She does.)

     So why hasn’t she moved her hand?

     Marceline bites her lip to stop a pleasurable sigh from falling out of her mouth as the edges of Bonnibel’s nails lightly tickle her skin, and her grip on the table turns white for a completely different reason. However she does look visibly calmer in Bonnie’s eyes, which is why she doesn't retract her hand. (Or at least why she tells herself she doesn’t.)

     Florence, seemingly the only other person aware of the events transpiring between the two girls, is highly amused, trying to stifle her laughter at Marceline getting so worked up so quickly while the other girl glares darkly at her. Marceline, trying to regain her focus and take it away from the ghostly touches on her sensitive skin that have her so  _ so  _ turned on, just catches the end of her father’s boring speech.

     “—ask her nicely.”  **_At this point, I’d be willing to beg her._ **

     All eyes have turned expectantly on her.

     “I’m sorry?” She answers breathily, trying to politely indicate that she’s not quite sure what’s being asked of her.

     “Please, dear Marceline, I know you haven't had time to prepare a piece for us, but I’m sure no one would object to you playing one from memory.” Her father says, an almost undetectable edge to his voice because Marceline did not immediately agree to his wishes. (Admittedly, Marceline doesn’t catch it either on account of her mind being hazy from Bonnibel’s fingers that are driving her  _insane_ **_._ ** )

     “Oh, I don't even have my instrument present with me.” She sheepishly replies, knowing it's a lame excuse, but not really caring at the moment.

     “The quartet viola player does not mind lending you his.” Her father’s tone is now a warning that she’ll either play or she won't be pleased with the consequences at all.

     “Actually,” Ash speaks up from his table, rising from his seat and approaching Hunson in the middle of the grand ballroom, “I have prepared something, and if Marceline doesn't mind sharing the spotlight for tonight, I would love the opportunity to perform, should the cellist be willing.” (Marceline doesn’t really care what happens tonight, so long as it involves her remaining in this chair and Bonnie continuing to touch her skin.)

     Hunson claps a hand on Ash’s shoulder approvingly, “What a fine idea.” He nods toward the cello player in the quartet, a stunning red headed woman who brings both her chair and her instrument into the center of the room.

     Ash sends a smile Marceline's way, and were it anyone else, she would think this was a rescue, but she knows Ash, and Ash always has darker intentions. She tries to hold his eye contact (she really does), but then Bonnie “reassuringly” squeezes her thigh again, harder this time, with her nails digging into the skin and sending a rush of heat racing through her blood from the on-fire nerve endings to the needy want coiling in the pit of her stomach, and her eyes slam shut while she bites down harshly on her bottom lip to trap the moan threatening to escape.

**_She’s going to kill me,_ ** Marceline thinks, before she takes the torturous hand on her leg into her own so that she doesn’t lose all control and willpower and rip open Bonnie’s dress, ravaging her right on the table. (Not that she’d object, of course.)

     She laces their fingers together and Bonnibel smiles up at her, sweet and innocent. It’s breathtaking, and Marceline forgets where she is and everything going on around her until she hears a bow hitting cello strings.

     She recognizes the song, _Somewhere Only We Know,_ about a bar and a half in, and despite the fact that she hates Ash, he plays the piece beautifully and without flaw. Bonnie leans over to Marceline about halfway through and tells her she has to use the restroom, unlacing their fingers after receiving the appropriate instructions. When Ash finishes playing, he accepts the applause of the audience humbly (hungrily), before silencing them and striding confidently over to Marceline. She shares a look with Florence, who knows this can't be good.

     He stops when he reaches her and pulls her from her seat by her hands so that they're standing face to face. He doesn't drop her hands, even after he’s pulled her to her feet. (She wishes he would. Holding Bonnibel’s hand was much nicer.)

     “Marceline, I know we’re both so young, and I know we’ve only known each other for a few short years, but they’ve been the happiest of my life.  _You_ make me the happiest of my life.” Ash lowers himself to one knee, to the excited gasps of the people around him, smiling up at Marceline with what looks to many as adoration, but she can see the venom lurking behind his eyes because he knows that he's trapped her. He produces a box from his coat pocket, opening it to reveal a large diamond ring. She resists the urge to roll her eyes. Another of his ridiculous presents, no doubt.

     “I’ve already asked your father, so what I need to know from you, Marceline Abadeer, is will you marry me?”

     Wait, _what?_


	9. Chapter 9

     Oh fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh _fuck_ ** _._ **

     Marceline swallows roughly, coarsely, loudly, and tries very, very hard to convince herself that she’s dreaming and will wake up any second from this terrible nightmare. This very dreadful dream that is nonetheless a dream and completely not real.

     Except it is. Real.

     She clears her throat in an effort to look like she’s preparing herself to speak, when all she’s really trying to do is drag out the silence. She’s only prolonging the inevitable, she knows this, because of course she will (inevitably) have to speak eventually and she can’t say no to Ash because her father is right there _fucking smiling_ and he would never forgive Marceline if she were to embarrass him by turning Ash down so publicly; but she also can’t say yes because he’s Ash and Marceline hates his guts and she’s massively gay and not to mention she’s kind of got a big, gigantic (gay) crush on her best friend Bonnie.

**_Huh,_ ** Marceline thinks in wonderment, having finally admitted it to herself, **_whaddya know? I have feelings for Bonnibel after all. Crazy what comes to mind at a time like this._ ** She tries to find the pink-haired girl’s eye, somewhere in the crowd of people. **_Speaking of Bonnie, where the hell is she?_ **

     Marceline has almost completely forgotten about Ash who nudges her foot with his own, glaring at her pointedly and reminding her that he’s kind of in the middle of a proposal and the least that Marceline could do is give him an answer, considering he’s literally on his knees in front of all these people. She clears her throat again, quelling the urge to remind him that she doesn’t owe him shit.

     “Uh, I—” Marceline doesn’t believe in a god, never has, but when she hears the shrill note of the fire alarm start to screech through the air, cutting her off mid-sentence (which is good considering she has no idea how she was going to continue) she comes dangerously close to giving him her everlasting soul, and even ponders dropping to her knees to send a prayer of thanks to whatever deity has decided to save her from this painfully-awful situation.

     She rushes toward the exit, only glancing back at Ash to take delight in the angry scowl that twists his facial features at her escape. As she moves through the doors, she looks everywhere for a flash a pink hair, but as she can't seem to find it, she becomes increasingly worried.

     All the people moving towards the front entrance forces her through the door as well and she tries to fight her way upstream to head back inside and go searching for Bonnie when she hears a voice.

     “Psst! Marceline!” The potted plant to her left hisses at her, and she thinks she just might be going crazy when she catches a glimmer of familiar pink hair through the shrubbery. The sight of Bonnie never failing to make her heart race, does indeed cause the organ to start pumping a little faster, and as of five minutes ago, she finally knows why.  

     “Bonnie?” she asks, fighting her way sideways through the crowd until she reaches the topiary. Bonnibel rises sheepishly from behind it. For some reason, Marceline can’t help herself from trying to recap everything that’s just happened in one breath. To her own ears, she sounds disgustingly like a teenage girl at a slumber party (Bonnie thinks her rambling just sounds adorable.)

     “Oh my god, did you see what Ash just pulled? Where _were_ you? And why are you hiding behind a plant? Ash just _proposed_ to me! He’s got some fucking nerve! I literally cannot believe he—” Marceline breaks off then suddenly, taking a breath and looking Bonnie up and down, “Where were you?” She repeats quizzically, head tilted to one side in a way that causes Bonnibel’s stomach to flutter at the cuteness of it.

     “I know he proposed to you, I saw it. But I was a little…preoccupied.”

     Bonnibel brings one hand up to rub sheepishly at the back of her neck and it’s then that Marceline notices the blue ink coating her fingers, the kind of blue ink that a fire alarm spews onto someone when it’s pulled, and realization dawns on her.

     “Oh my god, _you_ pulled that fire alarm?”

     “Shh!” Bonnie hisses, rushing forward to cover Marceline’s mouth and glance around them, making sure none of the people still streaming out of the clearly not on fire building heard her. It briefly crosses Marceline’s mind that Bonnie has really soft hands, before her tongue darts out to lick the skin, prompting Bonnibel to quickly retract her hand and roll her eyes at Marceline’s childish antics. Sirens sound off in the distance.

     “We have to get out of here.” Marceline says when she hears the frenzied approach of the fire truck, sobering and grabbing Bonnibel’s hand, dragging them towards a large building off to the left of the house. Thankfully when Marceline pulls on the handle, the door is unlocked. She considers sending a thank you up to the heavens for the second time tonight at the luck that’s being thrown her way.

     They step into the dark building together and Marceline flicks on a light switch, illuminating a room full of shiny cars in all different kinds of makes and models. While Bonnie stands shellshocked by the entrance, having never seen so many nice cars in one place, Marceline moves over to the key ring hanging from one wall and pulls a set off of one of the hooks.

     “C’mon, princess.” She says, taking Bonnie’s hand once again and leading her towards a white Porsche Boxster in pristine condition.

     “Marceline! We can't just steal a car!” Bonnie says incredulously as Marceline jumps over the side of the convertible into the driver’s seat and starts the engine.

     “I used to live here, Bon. Schwable is mine.” She reminds her as she pushes open the passenger side door. Bonnibel freezes momentarily, because for some reason the sight of Marceline in that tight black dress, curvaceous and delectable, behind the wheel of such a sleek and sexy car has made her throat dry. She speculates that it’s probably because she hasn’t really had anything to drink all night. She slides into the passenger seat.

     “Schwable?” Bonnie says. Her voice is dead serious, but Marceline can still tell that it’s meant as a teasing comment.

     “Shut up.” Marceline replies, pushing a button that opens one of three garage doors, before gunning out onto the pavement and racing off down the driveway into the cold air, the top of the car still down. She hasn’t even turned the headlights on.

     Marceline swings them out onto the street in a wide turn, barely slowing down as she continues to race down the otherwise empty road. She reaches over to turn on the radio and they’re greeted by Taylor Swift.

**_Midnight, come and pick me up, no headlights._ **

     Marceline’s hair is flying out behind her like wings, the ebony tresses barely visible against the black sky engulfing them. Bonnie thinks she has never looked more beautiful.

**_A long drive, could end in burning flames or paradise._ **

     Watching Marceline sing along lowly, Bonnie can’t seem to look away. She can barely hear the girl’s sultry voice, but the way her crimson mouth wraps around the words has Bonnibel absolutely enraptured. Everything about Marceline has her enraptured.

     The chorus of the song is a hazy blur in the background, as Marceline, feeling Bonnie’s stare, finds the pink haired girl’s eyes, her dark irises boring into Bonnibel’s. Occasionally she glances back at the street ahead of them, but she does so only sparingly, and Bonnie isn’t sure how she’s managing to keep the car on the pavement.

     She doesn’t really care either.

**_So it goes, he can’t keep his wild eyes on the road._ **

     Marceline tilts her head at this a little bit almost as if to say _huh,_ but makes no other comment, continuing to sing softly in her silky tone and Bonnie leans over the center console to hear her better. When the next words find her ears, it is only Marceline’s voice she hears, and only Marceline she sees, as the girl’s dark eyes threaten to consume her.

**_“What you’ve heard is true, but I can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout you.”_ **

     She stops singing then and as far as Bonnie is concerned, it’s because no other words exist. Marceline is her entire universe, her entire existence. She inches closer. She needs to feel Marceline’s full lips pressed against her own, she doesn’t care if the car crashes in the process.

     They jolt apart at the sound of someone leaning heavily on their horn and they look up just in time to see a red car speed past them in the opposite lane. Marceline finally reaches to turn on the headlights, then extends her middle finger high over her head. The moment—whatever it was—is gone, and so Bonnie leans back across the console and into her own seat.

     “So I take it we’re done acting like the Queen of England now?” Marceline looks over at Bonnibel when the pink haired girl says this.

     “Hell yeah.” and then they’re both laughing.

     Suddenly the night has caught up to them, and they can’t seem to catch their breath because they’re both roaring with laughter. Everything seems like the funniest thing in the world, and were anyone to stumble upon them they’d think they’re both crazy.

     “Ash _proposed_ to you!” Bonnie screams over the wind and this only makes them laugh harder.

     “I know!” Marceline screams back, between giggles, “and you pulled the _fire alarm!”_

     “Oh my god, I did! I’ve never broken a rule in my life!” Bonnie hollers to her, and once again they’re crying with laughter.

     “I fuckin’ love you, Bon!” Marceline tells her over the wind, still laughing. Bonnie quiets down and stares at a still laughing Marceline.

     She leans over and places a delicate kiss on Marceline’s cheek, silencing the other girl immediately, “Love you too, Marcy.”

     The smile that Marceline gives her is radiant, and in that moment Bonnie would do anything to make her happy. Marceline raises the top on the car and they continue to race away down the darkened street and into the black night, content little smiles on both their faces.

 

———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————---

 

     Bonnie wakes to the feel of ebony tresses tickling the skin of her cheek with the heavy and heavenly scent of red velvet right under her nose. Although her head is still filled with a sleepy fog, the smell is as comforting and familiar as the heat radiating off of the body next to her so she pushes her face further into the back of the person’s neck, sighing a groggy yet content, _“Marcy.”_

     Eyes closed, Bonnibel scooches forward another fraction of an inch and presses a ginger, delicate kiss into the place where her sleeping companion’s neck meets their shoulder. When she feels the other girl stir lightly she opens her eyes, yawning, and begins to take in her surroundings and _oh my god._ Heart pounding in her ears, Bonnie realizes exactly where she is: in Marceline’s dorm, _in Marceline’s bed,_ with Marceline wrapped up tightly in her arms, all of her back flush with Bonnie’s front, their legs hopelessly entangled under Marceline’s plaid black and gray covers.

**_Spooning,_ ** Bonnibel’s brain tells her in a desperate attempt to slow her alarmingly racing heartbeat, **_it’s just spooning. Friends do this all the time._ ** She takes a deep breath and looks around to examine Marceline’s dorm so that she’ll distract herself from looking at the literal angel asleep in her arms.

     The walls of the dorm room are painted gray (which is against school rules of course, but so incredibly trademark Marceline that Bonnibel doesn’t know why she’s even surprised when she sees it) and the wall across from her bed is covered so entirely in messily scrawled on red post-it notes that only slivers and cracks of the gray paint peek out from underneath. There’s a red keyboard in one corner of the the room, next to a propped up red acoustic guitar and an axe shaped gig bag that leaves no confusion as to which of Marceline’s instruments is located inside. Her desk is (surprisingly) covered in school work and (unsurprisingly) very messy. Different types of sheet music litter the floor in haphazard piles and strewn amongst clothes. There is no second bed and so, Bonnie assumes, no roommate. The room is very Marceline, in Bonnie’s opinion.

     She looks back at the sleeping form pressed up against her who, although has been awake for a while now, has remained still and quiet. Marceline had woken before Bonnie, but had felt so warm and comfy that she had decided she’d be perfectly happy just waiting in Bonnibel’s arms until the pink-haired girl woke up, and albeit one brief, panic-stricken thought of **_Calm down, Marcy, I’m sure there’s a perfectly normal heterosexual explanation for this,_ ** when Bonnie had kissed her shoulder, Marceline has remained entirely calm and content. Now though, as Bonnibel’s fingers figure skate up and down the bare skin of her arm, she doesn’t think she can handle much more.

     “Mornin’, princess.” She says, voice low, husky, and sleep-filled as she turns in Bonnie’s embrace.

     “Hey, you.” Bonnibel replies once they’re facing each other, heart racing at their proximity (arms wrapped around each other, legs tangled, foreheads pressed together, noses almost touching) as she tries desperately not to pass out.

     “So,” Bonnie giggles, as she brushes some of Marceline’s messy, bedhead bangs away from her dark eyes, “how exactly did I end up in your bed?”

     Marceline, before her eyes can ask her brain for permission, merely winks, to which Bonnie blushes and laughs loudly. She shrugs once the girl’s laughter dies down, “We didn’t get back until late and you were asleep when we got here and I didn’t want to wake you up so I just carried you up to my dorm and here we are.”

     “Aw, my knight in shining armor.”

     “Course, cupcake, who else could you depend on to kidnap you in your sleep?” At her comment, Bonnibel is giggling again and Marceline’s heart is skipping beats.

     “Well, thank you for committing a Class A-1 Felony for me.” Bonnie says still giggling as she drops a quick kiss onto the tip of Marceline’s nose, to which Marceline is seriously afraid she’ll faint. **_This girl will be the death of me._ **

     “Anytime.” She replies coolly, though she feels literally the exact opposite.

     “What time is it?” Bonnie asks as she rolls out of Marceline’s embrace to search for her phone, “I’ve gotta be at work at noon.”

     The pink-haired girl finally finds her cell phone in the pocket of her jacket after sitting up and scooping it up from the floor as Marceline admires the curve of her back from her spot still laying on the mattress. Her phone pings and she opens the message, frowning at first but then turning back to Marceline with a devilish smile.

     “Hey, what are the odds you’ll go to a party with me tomorrow night?”

     “Whose party?” Marceline asks, yawning and stretching her arms above her head. Bonnie bites her lip.

     “Lauren Spicolli-Porter.”

     “No.” Marceline answers as soon as the name has left Bonnibel’s lips, nose wrinkling in disgust.

     “Please?” Bonnie drags out the word, bottom lip puffing out adorably.

     “You don’t even like parties, and I hate LSP.” Marceline points out, rolling over so that she can press her face angrily into the pillow.

     “Yeah, but Ricardio really wants to go and I haven’t hung out with him in like two weeks so I kind of owe him and I know that he’s gonna get drunk and then I’m gonna be the only sober one there and I’ll be all lonely. I might even be peer pressured into consuming _alcohol._ You don’t want that for me, do you, Marcy? That life of crime?” Bonnie pulls her best puppy dog face and prods at Marceline until she takes her face out of the pillow to look at her. She gives a resounding sigh.

     “Fine, I’ll go.” Bonnie cheers excitedly, “But, princess, it’s only because I don’t trust your douchebag boyfriend.”

     Bonnibel let’s the boyfriend comment go and answers only with her standard, “Don’t call me princess."


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (((((;

     "Bonnie!" Lauren Spicolli-Porter shrieks when she pulls open the door of the sorority house practically throbbing as a result of the bass-heavy song being played loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear. Bonnibel glances over the hostess' shoulder and gulps when she notices the abundance of both people and alcohol.

     "Oh and of course, Ricardio!" She exclaims, looking Bonnie's boyfriend up and down in a more than friendly way. As she pulls both of them into a hug, one arm wrapped around the back of each of their necks, Bonnie thinks she should feel jealous over Lauren's blatant interest in her boyfriend. For some reason, she doesn't.

     Lauren pulls back and just then notices Marceline standing half a step behind Bonnie and her nose wrinkles as if she's just smelled something terrible (which is just ridiculous, Bonnibel knows, because Marceline always smells delightfully like red velvet cupcakes).

     "Hello, Marceline." She says in a voice too sweet to be real.

     "Yeah hey, Layla. Thanks for the invite."

     "It's Lauren, actually. And sorry about that. Must have gotten lost in the mail." Lauren gives her a look that is anything but sympathetic over her supposed lost invitation.

     "No sweat, man. I know how hard understanding things like the postal system and reading and writing is for you." Marceline replies after a nonchalant shrug, eyes flashing. LSP gives her an agonizingly sweet smile and Bonnie clears her throat before the situation can escalate.

     "Well, what are you waiting for? Get in here!" Lauren cheers once her eyes have returned to Bonnie and Ricardio who has just wrapped his arm around his girlfriend's waist. Marceline's fists clench as they move inside.

     All the furniture in the living room has been moved (to where nobody knows) and bodies are littering the now spacious area, grinding to the loud and somewhat obnoxious song blaring from the speakers set up somewhere in the house. The whole room smells heavily of alcohol and cologne and sweat. Ricardio spots some of his friends hanging out by a keg through the doorway to the kitchen and drops a kiss to Bonnie's hairline, promising to be right back with drinks, though he knows how Bonnie detests alcohol. This leaves her alone with Marceline, hovering awkwardly just outside the pit of gyrating teenagers.

     "So—" Marceline begins but is immediately cut off by a fiery redhead launching herself into the arms of the dark haired musician.

     "Marceline, babe, how have you been?" the girl squeals with both hands on Marceline's cheeks. And then before Marceline can answer, the redhead presses her lips messily to hers.

     Bonnie, watching the scene unfurl, grinds her teeth together almost painfully. Her fists are curled into tight little balls and there is an angry knot in the pit of her stomach. She's feeling exactly what Ricardio couldn't stir in her: jealousy. And as she watches the redhead introduce her tongue into the equation of her Marceline's mouth, she realizes just how insanely jealous she is.

     She clears her throat, which she thinks is rude and not something she would normally do, but if she has to watch this girl kiss Marceline ( _her_ Marceline) for another second, she won't be held responsible for her actions.

     "Oh, um, Bonnie this is Phoebe. She's a, ah, good friend of mine. Phoebe, this is my best friend Bonnibel." Bonnie feels a little bit of pride swell in her chest at the best friend title but keeps her arms crossed. Phoebe tilts her head, still wrapped up in Marceline's arms.

     "Pleasure." Bonnie grits out, visibly fuming.

     "Likewise." The girl answers, before turning back to Marceline and giving her a look that Bonnie thinks is supposed to be seductive. It only sets the pink-haired girl more on edge.

     "Do you want to dance?" Phoebe asks, one finger circling directly above Marceline's collarbone. For the first time since Phoebe had thrown herself at her, Marceline looks at Bonnie.

     "Will you be okay without me for a few minutes?"

     "Sure." She snorts sarcastically. Marceline doesn't pick up on the edge to her voice.

     "Sweet. I'll see you in a few." Phoebe then takes her hand, dragging her towards the center of the moving bodies and immediately faces away from Marceline, guiding her hands to her hips. Bonnie watches for a few moments, fire in her veins, as the girl moves her hips provocatively in time with Marceline's, one hand reaching up and dancing across the back of her neck, before Bonnie huffs and storms into the kitchen, unable to bear the sight for another second.

     She stomps right up to Ricardio, ripping the bottle of vodka he was about to pour into a shotglass from his hand and takes a long swig of the burning drink. There's a chorus of cheers around her and when she looks down at the bottle and sees the blocky insignia for NIGHTOSPHERE printed on it, she swallows another few mouthfuls. Ricardio whistles. 

     "Damn, Bubblegum. Where did that come from?"

     "Shut up." Bonnie tells hims, reaching up and yanking his mouth down to hers to which there are more whoops and yells from the people behind them. Ricardio pulls back after a moment.

     "You should drink vodka more often."

     As if to appease him, Bonnibel raises the bottle to her lips once more.

—

     " _Bonnie?"_ Marceline asks hours later, eyes not believing the sight in front of her.

     "Marcy!" Bonnibel squeals excitedly from her place on top of the kitchen table, empty vodka bottle in hand. Her pink collared shirt has been tied into a crop top just below her breasts and her already short shorts hiked up to the very tops of her thighs. She is barefoot, hips rocking and rolling with the music still pumping from wherever the speakers at this god forsaken party are. A crowd has gathered around her, cheering, and Ricardio is nowhere in sight.

     "Bon, get down. I'm taking you home." Marceline says, reaching for the pink-haired girl's hand.

     "Oh, come on! Have a little fun! Go hang out with your _friend."_ the way that Bonnie spits the word lets Marceline in on just how Bonnie feels about said friend.

     "No. We're leaving." the crowd boos and groans as Marceline finally grabs Bonnibel's hand and pulls her down off the table. She wobbles unsteadily before giggling and sluggishly slinging an arm around Marceline's shoulder. She starts to steer them through the party.

     "Have you seen my—" hiccup, "boyfriend?" Bonnie giggles. Marceline grits her teeth, but says nothing. Bonnie keeps going, "He's probably off with La-Lauren. See has a th-thing for him, ya know."

     "Yeah." Marceline replies, finally having gotten them out of the party and into the fresh air outside. She takes the stumbling and unsteady girl to her car and somehow manages to get her in without much trouble.

     "Here," Marceline says after she's gotten into the driver's side and reached behind her to retrieve a bottle of water for the clearly very drunk girl.

     "Shanks." she slurs, twisting off the cap and taking a long sip. Marceline starts her car and begins to drive, reminding Bonnie to take drinks every few moments and after she finishes the first bottle, persuading her to have a second. Marceline might not be a heavy drinker herself, but she knows a thing or two about lessening the effects of a hangover.

     She pulls up in front of Bonnie's dorm after a while and tells her that they've arrived. Bonnibel takes one glance out the window and tells her, sounding much more sober after the water and the long drive, "I promised Shoko and her boyfriend the dorm tonight. Can I spend the night with you?"

     Marceline, of course, agrees, getting Bonnie to nurse a third water as she drives them over to her dorm. Bonnie gets herself out of the car and walks mostly steady up all the stairs where she waits for Marceline to get her door unlocked.

     "Thanks, Marcy. My head feels a lot less funny."

     Marceline sighs. "Sure thing, Bon."

     Bonnie heads straight over to Marceline's bed, kicking off her shoes and wrangling her socks off, then turns to Marceline with a hopeful look in her eye.

     "Will you play me something?" She glances over at the guitar sitting in the corner of the room. Marceline sighs again.

     "Yeah." She retrieves it and takes a seat next to Bonnibel on the bed, beginning to pluck the intro to _Little Black Submarines._

     "No." Bonnibel interrupts, getting Marceline to look at her, "I want to hear something you wrote."

     Marceline mulls this over for a little while, before thinking, _**What the hell, not like she'll remember any of this anyway.**_

     "Okay." She strums a few chords gently, before singing.

 

     " _ **I'm a killer, cold and wrathful."**_

 

     She glances up at Bonnie as she sings the next line, and is surprised to find the intensity with which the pink-haired girl is already looking at her. Her gaze is hungry, almost predatory, and Marceline swallows coarsely.

 

     " _ **I've murdered half the town, left you love notes on their headstones. I'll fill the graveyards until I have you."**_

 

     Bonnibel moves suddenly, pushing the guitar out of Marceline's hands and climbing into her lap, straddling her waist and facing her. Marceline swallows roughly again.

     "I didn't say to stop singing." Bonnie tells her lowly, eyes raking over the musician's face in what could almost be called lust. Marceline continues, acapella.

 

     " _ **I want you stuffed into my mouth, hold you down and tear you open."**_

 

     To which Bonnie's fingers begin to trace her lips and she shifts on her lap, accidentally pressing down roughly into Marceline and causing the dark-haired girl to moan lowly before she can stop herself. Bonnibel's eyes widen. Marceline keeps singing, cheeks bright red, voice shaking just slightly.

 

     " _ **But I'll grind against your bones until—"**_ " _Oh."_ Marceline exhales as Bonnie rolls her hips into Marceline's experimentally, and heat shoots straight between her legs. Bonnie gives her a confident smirk.

     "I, Bon—Jesus Christ," Whatever she is about to say is cut off by Bonnie grinding herself once again into Marceline's lap, this time harder, more confident, "Shit, I—you're drunk."

     "You know, I don't think I like that Phoebe girl all that much." Bonnie confesses and Marceline is confused, but then Bonnie does something that up until this point Marceline had only dreamed about.

     Bonnie's mouth meets hers in a tidal wave of passion and lust and just _heat._ Their lips press together hungrily and it is in no way gentle, but that doesn't stop the kaleidoscope fireworks exploding behind Marceline's eyelids. Bonnibel's hips press into hers again while at the same time Bonnie pulls her head away, Marceline's lower lip trapped between her teeth, before she dives back in, tongue swiping to soothe the bite mark as her hands tangle in Marceline's dark hair and Marceline's hands grip her hips for dear life. Their lips press together desperately for a few more moments until Marceline forces herself away, groaning.

     "Bonnie, we can't." She says, though it looks like saying so physically pains her.

     "Why? Do you not want to?" Bonnibel remarks as she moves her mouth to underneath Marceline's jaw, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses down her neck.

     "I— _fuck._ " She breaks off when Bonnie bites down on her pulse point almost painfully and more heat races down her spine landing directly between her legs. She feels Bonnie smirk devilishly into the crook of her neck. "Believe me, I want to. But not like this." Marceline strokes her hair gently, coaxing her back so that she can look her in the eyes. "Is that okay?"

     Bonnie looks down at her seriously for a few moments, and then before Marceline can even process the sickly look on her face, throws up all down the front of her shirt, luckily missing Marceline's own face.

     "Marcy, I don't feel so good." She croaks.

     "Yeah, that sounds about right." Marceline replies, sighing and rubbing light circles on Bonnie's back as she picks them both up, hands supporting Bonnie's weight, and walks them both into the bathroom, turning on the shower and hauling them both into it fully clothed.

     Once she gets Bonnie all cleaned up and into dry, clean clothes, she tucks her into the freshly changed sheets and spare bedspread, gathering all the already sopping wet and puke-smelling clothing with her probably ruined comforter and sheet and taking them down to the laundry room. As she watches the washing machine spin, she tries to keep her mind away from the girl in her bed, fingers crossed that she won't remember any of this in the morning. After the machine goes off, she shoves everything into the dryer, leaving it until tomorrow and makes the trek back up to her dorm.

     She finds Bonnie already asleep, snoring lightly, and shaking her head with a smile, plops down next to her, too exhausted to do anything other than lie there but with a mind too full to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marceline's "song" in this chap is actually The Horror of Our Love by Ludo so all credit to them no copyright infringement intended and i own nothing and all that noise. also, in case it wasn't clear phoebe is meant to be flame princess


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops lmao i've had this chapter written for like two months and just completely forgot that i hadn't posted it

 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck.  _ (Chorus:  _ f u c k.)  _ Motherfucking fuck.  **_What the hell was I thinking?_ ** Marceline asks herself, listening to Bonnie groan, face pressed desperately into her pillow.  **_God, for fuck’s sake, exercise some self-control next time, Marceline._ ** She clears her throat, once again looking down at the mumbling mess of a girl in front of her. 

“Marcy, my  _ god. _ ”

“What is it?” Marceline asks, though she already knows the answer.

“My head. It hurts.” The pink haired girl grumbles, face still pressed into her pillow (well technically Marceline’s pillow) in an effort to block out the light filtering in through the window, her obviously awful hangover almost tangible. Marceline sighs, emotionally preparing herself for what she’s about to say and its inevitable response.

“So, Bon,” she prompts gently, trying to sound casual.

“Hmm?” Her companion replies turning slightly and squinting up at her through one half-closed eye.

“Just, uh, how much of last night do you remember?”

This sends Bonnibel back into the pillow, groaning once more.

“I have spotty images of dancing on a table and that's about it.”

Good. Great. Marceline tells herself that she's not hurt by this. That she shouldn't be hurt. That this is for the best. That Bonnie is straight, that Bonnie has a boyfriend. That it’s better this way. That Bonnie doesn't need a fuck-up like Marceline ruining her perfect life. 

(It doesn't work.)

There is a bitter taste in her mouth and when she swallows it, audibly, her throat feels acidic. She climbs out of bed, her bed, and tries to put space between her and Bonnie. Distances herself before she even has the opportunity to give into the urge to trace her fingers over the other girl.

“I’ve gotta go.” she tells the pink haired girl. (But where can she go?) 

“Uh, okay.” Bonnie replies. 

“There’s ibuprofen in the drawer of my nightstand. Make sure you eat something.” Marceline’s tone is clipped and Bonnie can tell, even in her ridiculously hungover state.

“Where are you going?” She asks, her voice a lot more vulnerable than she’d like, racking her brain for something she’s done wrong. Something that would result in this sudden cold shoulder.

“I, uh–I don't know.” Marceline says honestly, dragging a hand through her hair and leaving before Bonnie can even think of something more to say, something to keep her here.

“Oh.” She whispers, to no one in particular, and the word hangs in the silence of the room, bouncing and echoing back to her much louder than should be possible. It feels like a rift.

(It feels like a goodbye.)

Her head hurts worse now. She goes back to sleep.

———————————————————————————————————-

 

“Hold the fucking phone.” Keila says, hand help up like a barrier, as if to physically stop Marceline’s words, “She fucking  _ kissed  _ you? Bonnibel, straightest of the straights, princess straight, kissed  _ you. _ ”

“You don’t have to make it sound so unbelievable.” Marceline grumbles, pride wounded.

“Shit, Marce, you know that’s not what I meant.” Keila responds, backtracking, “You know I think you’re hot as hell and nice when you want to be I just, it’s a lot to take in.”

Marceline rubs her temples, agreeing silently.

“What about her boyfriend?” Keila prompts.

Marceline groans, as Ricardio is the last thing on her mind right now, “I don’t know.”  
“Not to state the obvious, but you could just talk to her.”

“Pass.” Marceline sighs.

“Well you’re gonna see her tonight anyway, seeing as we’re kind of playing at the coffee house that she works at.”

_ “Fuck.” _

“You’ve gotta think of some way to jog her memory.”

Marceline’s face lights up in a devious smile for the first time since this whole ordeal began.   
  


____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

“Uh, hey everybody.” Bonnibel watches from her place behind the counter as Marceline begins to speak nervously, adjusting the microphone stand while the crowded coffee house quiets down after the end of their last song, “So I know we don’t do this often, but we’re gonna play an original now.”

Marceline swallows looking ready to start before leaning back into the microphone and saying softly, almost as if already singing, “If you’re listening, I hope you’ll know that this is for you.”

Bonnie watches Marceline’s eyes dance away from hers, locking onto literally everything else, and she wonders what she did that upset Marceline so much that she won’t even look at her. The song begins.

 

**_“I’m a killer, cold and wrathful.”_ **

 

Bonnie’s back goes ramrod straight. A weird sense of deja vu slithering up her spine, memories pushing at the edge of her vision.

 

**_“I’ve murdered half the town, left you love notes on their headstones. I’ll fill the graveyards until I have you.”_ **

 

She feels dizzy, as if the world is spinning out from underneath her, as if she’s falling, flying, all at once.

 

**_“I want you stuffed into my mouth, hold you down and tear you open.”_ **

 

She grips the counter in front of her desperately, trying to ground herself, keep herself tethered to reality, as flashes of something almost like a dream play behind her eyelids. Hands on hips. Fingers in hair. Burning between her thighs.

 

 ** _“But I’ll grind against your bones until—”_** _“Oh.”_ All the breath leaves Bonnie in one long sigh and her whole body feels weightless as the images come to fruition and she remembers it all; The feeling of her hips pressing into Marceline’s for the first time. Marceline stumbling over her words as she rolled into her again, pleasure shooting up her spine. Marceline’s mouth, her holy, goddamned mouth pressing desperately against Bonnie’s own, Marceline’s lower lip tugged between her teeth while the dark haired girl’s hands dug into her hips with barely contained lust. The sweet, salty taste of Marceline’s neck and the way she shuddered and moaned when Bonnibel had nipped her there. Her stomach twists as she remembers what occurred moments after their lips had separated and she feels like she can’t breathe, like the walls are pressing in on her.

She sends a panicked look over at her coworker Fiona who must understand, or at least read something in her eyes, because the blonde merely nods and Bonnibel is racing out of the coffee house back into the adjourning alley. In her panic, she doesn’t feel Marceline’s eyes following her path out the door, nor does she see the dark haired girl pull her bass off of her mid-song and jump off stage, racing after her.

“Oh,  _ fuck.” _ Bonnie has never been one for cursing, especially not the curse word of all curse words, but right now it feels appropriate. She has pressed herself up against the cool bricks of the building, trying to calm her racing pulse and soothe the throbbing between her legs generated by last night’s memories. The small hairs at the back of her neck are plastered to her almost feverishly hot skin despite the fact that it’s freezing outside and winter is just around the corner. Unlike the last time she was in this position, she hears the heavy back door of the alley shut as someone exits.

“Bonnie, I—” Marceline begins, but Bonnibel holds up a hand to silence her, which is good considering Marceline has no idea what she was going to say anyway. Marceline moves until she is right in front of Bonnie, and Bonnibel watches the object of her desire, the cause of the ache in the pit of her belly, take a breath and release it.

“Bon—” 

“Shut the fuck up.” Bonnibel hisses, grabbing Marceline’s shoulders and spinning them so that Marceline is the one pressed against the wall, faces a breath apart.

“What are you doing?” Marceline whispers, and she doesn’t know if she’s saying it to herself or to Bonnie but it doesn’t really matter because then the dark haired girl is leaning down and Bonnie is pressing forward and they are kissing. 

It’s different than their first kiss and yet it’s also exactly the same. It’s gentler, with less teeth and more lips molding against each other, but there is just as much passion, just as much lust and want on both ends as the first kiss. 

(Maybe even more.) 

It takes a few seconds for the fact that Marceline is kissing Bonnibel, a  _ sober  _ Bonnibel, to register in her brain, but when it does, she doesn’t waste another second.

She spins them so that Bonnie is once again the one with her back against the wall (and maybe she does this a little harsher than need be but the pleasurable groan that Bonnie releases when her shoulders meet the hard brick is enough to convince Marceline otherwise) and before she has a second to doubt herself or talk herself out of it or scold herself for moving too fast, she pushes her thigh up between Bonnie’s.

The pink haired girl moans at the sensation, rocking her hips down onto the skin of Marceline’s thigh wedged tightly between her own. Instead of inhibiting her, the denim of her jeans only creates more friction, and Marceline’s mouth leaves hers with a delicious sigh, trailing from the corner of her lips and down onto her neck. She finds the line of Bonnie’s collarbone exposed by the two undone buttons of her work shirt and scrapes her teeth along it, causing Bonnibel to grind down along her thigh again and release a high-pitched whine. Marceline starts kissing the skin of her chest just below the end of her neck and Bonnie’s breath catches in her throat.

“B-be careful of hickies.” She manages to stutter out in between pants and this causes a low noise to rumble out of Marceline’s throat as she deliberately sucks a large and dark hickey into the skin directly above Bonnibel’s collarbone. She drags her tongue up the side of Bonnie’s neck until she reaches her ear.

“You’re hot when you swear.” she husks, and Bonnie shivers, arching into Marceline even further, her body a taut bow in Marceline’s very capable hands.

Bonnie manages to catch Marceline’s own ear between her teeth (and oh my god, that is totally not something she ever thought she’d do in her life), drawing out the word  _ “fffuucccckkk.” _ and delighting in the chuckle that rumbles out of Marceline's chest. Bonnie traces the shell of her ear with the tip of her tongue and the dark haired girl shivers, Bonnie’s hands pressing into the small of her back and just ghosting above the curve of her backside. Marceline’s own hands, one cradling Bonnie’s neck, the other burning a slow trail from Bonnibel’s hip and around to her front in order to drag her nails lightly over Bonnie’s stomach, have set her on fire.   

Marceline slides one hand gingerly under Bonnie’s work shirt, fingertips grazing her lower abdomen so teasingly that Bonnibel’s hips seem to rock down onto Marceline of their own accord, a pleasurable moan falling from her lips. Marceline’s fingers continue to skate higher and higher and are a mere breath away from the edge of Bonnie’s bra when Bonnibel’s phone decides that now is a good time to go off, startling them both.

“Sorry.” Bonnie says as Marceline withdraws her hand. “It’s Ricardio.” she adds after a beat and without checking her phone, seemingly unfazed as she pulls Marceline’s mouth back toward her own.

It takes a few moments for the words to register in Marceline’s brain. Ricardio. Bonnie’s boyfriend. When they do register, when their implications register,  Marceline almost chokes.

“Wh-what the hell are we doing?” she asks, forcing herself away and gulping down air. She runs one hand raggedly through her hair, eyeing the purple hickey blossoming in the hollow of Bonnibel’s collarbone, a red blush creeping from her neck all the way up to the tips of her ears, both a result of Marceline’s own mouth. They are still close enough that Marceline can feel every puff of breath leaving Bonnie’s mouth and fanning out against her own. Their eyes are locked and Marceline’s thigh is still wedged firmly into the apex of Bonnie’s. Some part of her knows that she should put some distance between them, that they’ll never be able to have the conversation about this that they need to with the position they’re in, and yet another part of her (the bigger part, the stronger part) is afraid to move, afraid to breathe; afraid that Bonnibel will shove her away and she’ll never find herself in this position again (and oh, how she  _ loves _ being in this position). 

But as she internally implodes, kiss-swollen lower lip caught between her teeth, Bonnie merely chuckles with ease, a lazy grin stretching across her relaxed features, and says, “Kissing, Marceline. We’re kissing.”

And as Bonnie leans back in, brushing her mouth teasingly over Marceline’s before capturing  the other girl’s bottom lip between her own, all of Marceline’s thoughts of morality and right and wrong fly right out the window. 

Just as Bonnie begins to coax Marceline’s tongue into her mouth and angle her head to deepen their kiss, they are interrupted once more, this time by Keila bursting out of the back door with a courteous, “Well, fuck. That was fast.”

They separate immediately with an audible groan of annoyance from Marceline and a giggle from Bonnibel that Marceline finds unabashedly adorable. Keila stares at the two, who look like small children caught sneaking a hand into the cookie jar, smiling slightly, and then rolling her eyes.

“Come on, Romeo,” she says good-heartedly, gesturing to Marceline, “we’ve still got another half hour to fill and Bongo can only tell jokes for so long.”


End file.
